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Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 



Part II., May, 18S4, to Octobkr. 1SS4. 



Copyright, 1884, by The Century Co. 

Press of Theo. L. De Vinne & Co. 


Library, Univ. ot 
North Carolina 




Six Months — May, 1884, to October, 1884. 



Agassiz Association 5S1 

661, 741, 821, 901, 981 

Another Indian Invasion. (Illustrated by J. Wells Champney) Mrs. Lizzie IV. Champney. . . 944 

Artistic Surprise, An. Pictures, drawn by O. Herford 788 

Aunt Kitty and Her Canaries. ( Illustrated) Amanda B. Harris 940 

Baldwin of Jerusalem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Brooks 788 

Banner of Beaumanoir, The. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm and Ellen Oakford) . Louisa M. Alcott 58S 

Bartholdi Statue, The. ( Illustrated by Camille Piton and W. Taber) ... Charles Barnard 725 

Bashful Marguerite, The. Verses. (Illustrated by William W. Kent). . . .Alice Wellington Rollins . . . 627 

Benny's Horse. (Illustrated by " Boz ") Mary Catherine Lee S50 

Biography of Richard, The. (Illustrated by H. P. Share and J. H. Dolph) Noah Brooks 912 

Bird Matinee, The. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) IV. C. £ S46 

" Bobolink and a Chickadee, A." Jingle M. Ella Preston 767 

" Boys. " Verses lohn S. Adams 856 

" Braiding Mother's Hair." Picture, drawn by Mary Hallock Foote 921 

Brian of Munster. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Brooks 863 

Brook's Song, The. Poem. (Illustrated) Mrs. M. F. Butts 688 

Brownies' Voyage, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 604 

Central Park Sheep, Old Shep and the. ( Illustrated by Tames Monks i ^ ... TT ,. „ 

andW. Taber) \Frankl.n H. Aorth 7 47 

Child's Night-thoughts, A. Poem Lucy Larcom 587 

Corny's Catamount. (Illustrated by E. C. Held) Louisa M. Alcott 921 

Curious House, The. Poem. (Illustrated by Celia Thaxter) Joel Benton 807 

Daisy's Jewel-box, and How She Filled It. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm). .Louisa M. Alcott 857 

Daisy-time. Poem. (Illustrated by Frontispiece on page 586) Fleta Forrester 611 

Dalzells of Daisydown, The. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) E. Vinton Blake 828, 917 

Dandelion. Poem Nellie M. Garabrant 733 

Dandelions. Poem Helen Gray Cone 60S 

Doves at Mendon, The. Poem. (Illustrated by G. F. Barnes) Julia C. R. Dorr. 544 

Egyptian Bird-mouse, The. (Illustrated by J. C Beard) Mrs. H. Mann 714 

Fans. Verses. (Illustrated) Bessie Hill 7S5 

Farmer Nick's Scarecrow. Verses Nora E. Crosby 87S 

, Fete-day in Brittany, A. (Illustrated by W. H. Goater) A. C. G 959 

_ " First Come, First Served. " Picture 670 

3 Fish Acrobat, A. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) C. F. Holder 777 

fll Floral Letter, A. Verses. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) " Uncle Russell " 890 

xf Flower Fancies. Poems Helen Gray Cone . 60S 

— Flower-girl, The. Poem Charles G. Leland 695 



Fourth of July Among the Indians, A. (Illustrated by the Author) ... . W. P. Hooper 689 

Fraulein Mina Smidt Goes to School. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis \ „ , , „ . , g^g 

Shepherd) ■.....' 

Frederick of Hohenstaufen. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Brooks - 628 

Frieda's Doves. (Illustrated by Fr. Lipps) Blanche Willis Howard . . 769 

Giraffe Excursion, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 724 

Gold-robin. Poem. (Illustrated by Mary Hallock Foote) Celia Thaxler 696 

Good Druggist, A. Verses Mary Lang . . 701 

Grasshopper, The. Poem William H. Hayne 760 

Gustavus Kean's Spelling , J. C. Montague 609 

Historic Boys. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Brooks 556 

628, 716, 788, S63, 964 

Olaf of Norway, the Boy Viking 556 

Frederick of Hohenstaufen, the Boy Emperor 628 

Van Rensselaer of Rensselaerswyck, the Boy Patroon 716 

Baldwin of Jerusalem, the Boy Crusader 788 

Brian of Munster, the Boy Chieftain S63 

Louis of Bourbon, the Boy King . 964 

" Ho, for the Nutting-grounds ! " Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 943 

How the Tories Broke Up " Meeting." (Illustrated by W. H. Drake^ . Emma W. Demeritt 667 

How We Fooled the Storks. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Oscanyan 624 

How We Were Burnt Out in Constantinople. (Illustrated by W. A. \ „ „,„ 

' > Oscanyan 763 

Rogers) ) 

Jerseys; or, the Girl's Ghost. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm and R. Taylor) . Louisa M. Alcolt 680 

Jingles 516, 529. 555, 679, 724, 767, 76S, 815, S19, 845, 847, 849, 969 

June. Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) : . . Caroline A. Mason 595 

Land of Fire, The. Concluded. (Illustrated by Henry Sandham) Mayne Reid 530 

Lanty O'Hoolahan and the Little People. (Illustrated by C. G. Bush) Frederick D. Storey 929 

Leather-work for Young Folk. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles G. Leland . . 570 

" Letting the Old Cat Die." Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes -. 943 

Little Brother, The. Picture, drawn by Mary Hallock Foote 855 

" Little Girl in the Glass, I Think I 've Seen You Before." Picture. ) 

■ > . . . . 959 

drawn by M. W. Wallace > 

" Little Girl with the Shell." Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes . S56 

Little House in the Garden, The. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) Louisa M. Alcott 778 

Little Quaker Sinner, The. Poem Lucy L. Montgomery 827 

Little Things. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake and G. R. Halm) Louisa M. Alcott 547 

Living Cameos and Bas-reliefs George B. Bartlett S49 

" Look Out, There ! " Picture, drawn by Jos. Lauber 562 

Lost ON the Plains. (Illustrated by H. F. Farny) Joaquin Miller 937 

Louis of Bourbon. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Brooks 964 

Maiden-hair. Verses Bessie Chandler 569 

Margaret's " Favor-book " Susan Anna Brown 621 

Marvin and His Boy Hunters. (Illustrated by W. L. Shepherd) Maurice Thompson ... 562 

645. 702, 797, 879, 953 

Master Squirrel. Poem. (Illustrated by the Author) H. P. Wolcott 963 

Meeting on theRail, A. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas ... . 568 

"Mr. Plantagenet Norman Dane." Jingle. ( Illustrated by R. B. Birch). Mary Lang 516 

" My Ma Says that Women Ought to Vote." Picture, drawn by Rose \ , , 

Mueller ' 

Nabby Blackington. Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Virginia L. Townsend . . . 712 

Ocean Notion, An. Verses. (Illustrated by G. F. Barnes) Joel Stacy 836 

Olaf of Norway. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Brooks 

Old Shep and the Central Park Sheep. (Illustrated by James Monks } ,. ,,. „ ,. ,, 

x J J :■ Franklin II. 'North 

and W. Taber ' 

On Teaching the Eye to Know What it Sees. (Illust'd by the Author) .Frank Bettew 

Our Roller Skating Brigade. Jingle. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Mary La Salle Wing . 
Our Top Brigade. Jingle. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Mary La Salle Wing... 






Our Young Artist. Verses. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) R. W. Lowrie 974 

Page from Young Contributors, A 620 

Paper : Its Origin and History. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake and others). Charles E. Bolton 808 

Pet Swan, The. Picture 889 

Philopena, The. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 520 

Philosopher's Escape, The. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Eva Lovctt Carson 761 

Picnic, A. Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 530 

Picnics Susan Anna Brown 722 

Pictures 530, 562, 608, 620, 626, 670, 733, 788, 855, 856, 87S, 8S9, 910, 921, 943, 959 

Playmate Hours, The. Poem Mary Timelier Higginson . . . 876 

Poor Robinson Crusoe. Jingle M. Ella Preston 849 

Queen's Museum, The. ( Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 837 

Queer Game. (Illustrated) Mrs. S. B. Hcrrick 635 

Ragged Sailors. Poem Helen Cray Cone 608 

Resigned to His Fate. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 910 

River-end Moreys' Rab, The. (Illustrated by the Author) A. G. Plympton 539 

" Rocket" and " Flyer." Poem. (Illustrated by Mrs. C. Siedel) Joel Stacy 507 

Romance of a Menagerie, The. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) John R. Coryell 933 

Rosy Snow. Poem Helen Gray Cone 529 

" Say ? " Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) S. B. Ricord 847 

Scarlet Tanager, The. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) J. T. Trowbridge 508 

612, 671 

Sea Turn, A. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) 768 

" S. F. B. P.," The. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Helen Campbell 756 

Slang .... Lucia Gilbert Runkle 907 

Smart Boy, A. Jingle 845 

Society of Decorative Art, A. Picture, drawn by Ellen Oakford 608 

Song of the Roller Skates, The. Verses A. C 554 

Spider and the Tuning-fork, The. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) John F. Coryell 603 

Spinning-wheel Stories. (Illustrated) Louisa M. Alcott 547 

5SS, 680, 778, 857, 921 

Little Things 547 

The Banner of Beaumanoir . 58S 

Jerseys ; or, the Girls' Ghost . . 680 

The Little House in the Garden 77$ 

Daisy's Jewel-box, and How She Filled It 857 

Corny 's Catamount 921 

"Stop!" Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) A. Brennan 969 

St. Nicholas Almanac, The. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Royal and Ba?-r Hill 576 

656, 736, 816, 896, 976 

Story of a Tree-frog, A. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) T. Lancey 876 

Story of King Rhoud, The. Poem Margaret Jaudegri/t 910 

Stranger, A. Verses Bessie Chandler 721 

Summer Trials. Pictures, drawn by P. Caminoni 733 

Summer Waif, A. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes S7S 

Supporting Herself. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 517 

Sweet Peas. Poem Susan Hartley Swell 755 

Swordsmen of the Deep. (Illustrated by James C. Beard) . .John R. Coryell S47 

To a Katydid. Poem Caroline A. Mason 67S 

Two Boys of Migglesville. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) IV. TV. Fink 596 

Van Rensselaer of Rensselaerswyxk. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Brooks 716 

Way to Grow Wise, A Martha Holmes Bates 70 1 

Why ? Poem Mrs. M. F. Butts 657 

Witch of Woody Dell, The. Poem. (Illustrated by G. F. Barnes). . .Charles R. Talbot 794 

Words Inclined to Jingle. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) 4nnie E. De Friese 529 

Work and Play for Young Folk. (Illustrated) 570 

Leather-work Charles G. Leland 570 

Work and Play for Young Folk. An Announcement . 070 



Yankee Boy's Adventure at the Seaside, A. (Illustrated by W. H. ) „. „ , _, 

v ' > Spencer Borden 786 

Drake) J 

Youngest Soldier of the Revolution, The. (Illustrated) //'. \V. Crannell 697 

Youth and Age. Verses : M. II. F. Lovett 028 


Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Illustrated). 

Introduction — How Many Flowers in a Daisy ? — Her " Braw New Claes " — The Artillery Fern — Hickory, 
Dickory, Dock ! — Insects Tilting (Illustrated), 578 ; Introduction — Facts from Personal Knowledge (eleven 
letters concerning the ages of animals), 65S ; Introduction — The Yellow Fire-cracker — About Uncle Sam — 
The Daisy is Interviewed — Breeze-children — Our Friends the Scaphirhynchopenae — A Salt Tumbler (Illus- 
trated) — Why Tumbler? 738; "When the Weather is Wet" — Oh, that Daisy! — Over Four Hundred 
Flowers in a Daisy ! — A White Rainbow — About Slate-pencils — A Strange Sea Voyage — A Hen Conquers 
a Rat — Oil on the Troubled Waters — The Busy Bee (Illustrated) — The Busy Wasp — A Few Simple Garden 
Questions, 818 ; The Nightingale and the Raven — A New Word-game — What Noise does the Beaver Make ? 
— A Crab Barometer — Why Tumbler — Those Aged Animals — "The Little School-ma'am's Pets" (Illus- 
tration), S98 — Introduction — Garden Questions answered — The Squirrel and the Dog — Venerable Dogs 
and Horses — A Brave Cat-fish Mother (Illustrated), 978. 

For Very Little Folk (Illustrated). 

The Little Boy We Call " Hy," 574 — Grandma's Surprise Party, 655 — The Tale of the Toad-fish, 734 — 
Little Dot ; The Rich Pig, S14— Little Bertie, 894 — The Dog that Drove his Master's Cart, 975. 

The Letter-box (Illustrated) 580, 660, 740, S20, 900, 980 

The Riddle-dox (Illustrated) 583, 663. 743, 823, 903, 983 


" Rocket " and " Flyer," facing Title-page of Volume, by Mrs. C. Siedel — " Daisy Time," by Laura E. Hills, 
586 — " My Big Brudder Can Make It Go ! " by Alfred Kappes, 666 — " An Interview with the Central Park 
Sheep," by James Monks, 746 — " Gathering Autumn Leaves m the Mountains," by Jessie Curtis Shepherd, 
826 — " The Jester's Cap," by George F. Barnes, 906. 


Vol. XI. 

MAY, 1884. 

No. 7. 

[Copyright, 18S4, by The CENTURY CO.] 

In the soft, green light of the leafy June, 
"Rocket" and "Flyer" sat humming a tune: 
Humming and chatting, they soberly swayed 
In the hammock under the linden's shade. 

Said " Rocket "to " Flyer " : " To make them 
quite strong, 
Mamma said we scarcely could take too much 
pains ; " 
"Oh, yes!" answered "Flyer," "and ever so 

long ! 

But, how funny for horses to make their own 
reins ! " 

A live pair of horses. They worked side by 

As each a crochet-needle daintily plied. 
Their real names were Fanny and Marjorie 

Blair, , 

And never was seen a more beautiful pair. 

Spirited, supple, strong, gentle, and fleet 

Were "Rocket" and "Flyer," as Robbie 
Rob was their master, — so chubby and sweet, 
'T was plain to be seen why his horses were 

Such a grip as he had ! Such a " whoa / " and 

a "go.'" 
Such a power over horses — (of their kind, you 

know) ; 
Such a genius for making them follow his will, — 
For making them amble, or holding them still ! 


By Joel Stacy. 

Well, it seems that one day, when the spirited 

Were hitched to a rose-bush that stood by the 

At the sight of a spider, they broke loose and ran; 
And Robbie sat wailing as never before. 

His lines were all tangled, and broken, and torn. 
The rose-bush rained petals, and sprang back in 

For "Rocket" and " Flyer," as Robbie declared, 
" Had turned into girls just because they were 

scared ! " 

In vain they begged pardon, flushed, laughing 
and warm : 
In vain coaxed and kissed in their prettiest 
style ; 
Hut at last, by a promise, they conquered the 
And won from their master a nod and a smile. 

They would make him " a new set of reins ? — 

good and strong? " 
Make him " reins that were nearly a dozen yards 

long ? " 

Ah, " Rocket" and " Flyer," — you beautiful 

span ! 
' T is you who can manage the stout little man ! 

And this was the reason they swung side by side, 
And each a crochet-needle daintily plied : — 
Their real names were Fanny and Marjorie Blair, 
And never was seen a more beautiful pair. 





^ ^ J • T • Trpvsmdget 


Chapter I. 


the grassy bank by the door 
of the old parsonage, a slender 
boy, with thin, dark features 
and straight black hair, sat with 
a shingle on his lap, skinning 
a bird. 
Hearing the latch of the gate click, 
he looked up and scowled. 

" It 's old Pickerel ! " he muttered, bending his 
eyes again intently on his work. " Wonder what 
he wants here ! " 

The visitor was a young man, not more than 
thirty ; but, being a school-master, the boys called 
him old ; and, because his name was Pike, they 
called him Pickerel. 

He came along the graveled walk, swinging his 
light cane, and without appearing to notice par- 
ticularly the boy's occupation said, in a tone of 
voice meant to be conciliatory : 

" Is your father at home, Gaspar ? " 

"No, he aint," Gaspar replied curtly, without 
looking up again from his bird. 

Old Pickerel — or, rather, young Mr. Pike — 
paused and hesitated, while a look of displeasure 
or disappointment, or both, gathered on that beam- 
ing, friendly face of his. 

What he thought was : " When you come to my 
school, you '11 be taught manners more becoming 
a minister's son, and learn not to say aint." What 
he sai4 was — (in a tone still resolutely conciliatory, 
for he seemed aware of wild traits in this young colt, 
whom he was to catch first and afterward tame): 

" I am sorry for that. At what time will he 
return ? " 

"Don't know," said Gaspar shortly, as before, 
while he continued skinning his bird. 

The visitor was about to turn away in disgust, 
but he hesitated again. It was evidently hard for 

him to keep up the bland and winning manner of 
his first questions ; but he did it heroically, and 
asked if Gaspar's mother was in. 

"Guess so," was the discourteous answer he 
received ; and he moved on toward the door. 

"If the old gentleman aint at home, the old 
lady will do," mused Gaspar, who commonly spoke 
of his parents in this light, irreverent way. (Some- 
times, I regret to relate, they were " the old man " 
and " the old woman.") 

" What 's up, I wonder ? I '11 bet they 've sent 
for him to talk over my going into the high school 
this fall ! " 

He stopped skinning his bird, and fixed on 
vacancy a fierce, discontented look. 

"But I aint going to the high school; that 's 
all there is about that ! My days of slavery are 
over. I 'm going to have a good time now, when 
I can : and when I can't. I '11 make a row." 

He tried to give his mind once more to the bird- 
skinning, but he was excited and listless : a long- 
ing possessed him to know how a quiet little con- 
versation about himself would sound. 

He seemed to conclude that it would be amus- 
ing ; so, slipping the shingle, with the bird and 
knife on it, under a lilac-bush, he glided cautiously 
around the corner of the house, and turned up an 
expectant ear under the sitting-room window. 

He could hear voices within, but it was some 
time before he could make out much that was said. 
At length, his mother's voice began to l'ise and 
swell with tempestuous emotion. 

" I wish my husband were here to talk with you," 
she was saying, "for I can't, — I can't, — without 
giving way to my feelings and saying what I know 
I shall regret afterward." 

" You need not hesitate to be quite frank with 
me," was the reply, in earnest accents, breaking 
through the subdued tones of the formal call. " I 
know something about boys. I have studied them 
all my life, and I have never yet found one that did 
not have some good traits that could be success- 



fully appealed to, if approached by the right 
person in the right way." 

"It is about me," thought Caspar, listening 
breathlessly. But he was not displeased by the 
visitor's remark. " Guess old Pick aint such a very 
scaly fellow, after all ! " he said to himself. But 
his mother was speaking now. 

"Oh, yes! And Caspar is no exception. He 
can be the pleasantest, most obliging boy you 
ever saw, when things go to suit him ; but that 
is n't much of the time, 1 'm forced to say, if 1 am 
his mother ! And when things don't go just ac- 

" He seems to regard us as his enemies ; whereas, 
mercy knows, we work and pray only for his good. 
He is not a malicious or a vicious boy ; nor lazy, if 
he is only interested in what he is doing — then, 
I am often surprised to see how industrious and 
capable he is ! " 

"That is boy-like. I have known many just 
such cases," said the visitor. 

" I should n't mind, if we could ever get him in- 
terested in anything we wish him to do," the mother 
resumed. " But that seems well-nigh impossible. 
The very fact that we wish a thing done is enough 


cording to his notion — oh! I can't begin to tell 
you how we surfer from his unrilial conduct ! " 

The mother's voice became flawed and gusty with 
grief; while the listener under the window scowled 
and set his teeth, as if he found eaves-dropping 
not so agreeable a pastime as he had anticipated. 

The school-master made some sympathetic re- 
sponse, which was only half-audible to Gasper, and 
then Mrs. Heth went on : 

to prejudice him against it, and often we have in- 
duced him to pursue a desired course by appearing 
to oppose him in it. He told his sister that he could 
n't be hired to go to the picnic last week ; but when 
his father said, ' I suppose you wont care to go, 
and it will be better, perhaps, for you to stay at 
home,' he changed his mind and went, to our 
great relief." 

" Ho, ho! " whispered Gaspar softly, not at all 



I May, 

pleased to learn how he had been cajoled. " 1 '11 
look out for you next time ! " 

•• His father and I have wished to give him an 
education ; and though we are not rich, we would 
cheerfully have made any sacrifices to send him to 
college and prepare him for a profession. But he 
hates study. Oh ! when I think of the difference 
between him and some boys I know, who are striv- 
ing for an education against the greatest obstacles, 
while he is throwing away his opportunities, it 
makes me " 

" What is she crying for? " Caspar said to him- 
self, in the painful interval of silence which followed. 

" We should be willing for him to leave school," 
she resumed presently, "if there were any other 
useful thing he would apply himself to. But he 
thinks he 's cruelly misused if we even require him 
to take care of the horse, or split a little kindling- 
wood. It is, in fact, so great a trial to get any- 
thing of that kind done, that his father would 
never ask it of him if it were not a still greater trial 
to see him idle. That he is a minister's son, 
makes the matter seem worse than if he belonged 
to anybody else ; so much is expected of a minis- 
ter's family ! But he appears to have no regard 
for his father's position ; and, indeed, but very 
little respect for him, anyway." 

" I infer that he is not a very good scholar," said 
the visitor. 

" He is a very poor scholar. But it is n't the 
fault of his ability. I never saw a child so quick 
to learn, when he once gives his mind to anything. 
But his object in school seems to have been to 
have all the fun he could, while studying just 
enough to pass his examinations, and not get left 
by his class. Not one of his teachers has seemed 
able to get at the right side of him ; and I know he 
has worked against them in everyway he could." 

" Evidently they have not understood him." 
said the school-master. 

" How could they be expected to understand him. 
when I, his own mother, can not ? " said the woman, 
despondently. " Oh, what would I not give to find 
the right chord to touch in his nature, and know just 
how to reach it ! There must be such a chord, — 
he is so bright, so ingenious, so ready to help almost 
anybody but his own family and friends ! " 

Caspar scowled harder than ever, and his breath 
came thickly. He wished his mother would not 
talk in that way ! 

" You see, now," she went on, "why we have 
sent for you. We need your advice and help. 
We are very anxious that he should enter at your 
school the next term ; and I thought that, per- 
haps, if you could talk with him, knowing some- 
thing of his peculiar disposition to begin with, you 
might have some influence over him." 

The school-master did not reply for a moment. 

" Guess he don't care to take that contract," 
thought Caspar, remembering his recent surly be- 
havior to the visitor. "He '11 think that I 'm too 
bad to try to do anything with, and I can't blame 
him." So he hardened his heart, although, for 
some reason, he felt now that he would a little 
rather have the good opinion of old Pickerel. 

" What sort of persons are his associates?" the 
teacher asked, after a pause. 

" Just such as you might suppose, — the most idle 
and reckless boys in the neighborhood. There is 
Pete Cheevy, perhaps the worst of them all. Scarce 
a day passes but he and our boy are off together rob- 
bing birds' nests, or killing the poor little birds." 

" I have observed them together," said the visi- 
tor ; "and I must confess that I have wondered 
to see your son keeping such company." 

"We have tried to prevent it," rejoined the 
mother ; " and we have tried to prevent this war- 
fare on the birds. But Gasparhas a gun --an old- 
fashioned fcwling-piece that his uncle gave him ; 
he even feels hard toward us, because his father will 
not buy him a-breech-loader ! He says that we op- 
pose him in everything. Whereas, mercy knows, 
we have been too indulgent. He is an only son ; he 
was our idol in his babyhood — all our hopes cen- 
tered in him. Now, — to think how he repays us ! " 

And Caspar, under the window, could distinctly 
hear his mother's sobs. 

" I am sure there must be some way of reaching 
his better naiure," said Mr. Pike. " But I see he is 
suspicious of me ; thinking, no doubt, that because 
I am a school-master I must be plotting against 
his liberty. I will help you, if I can, Mrs. Heth ; 
but it is possible that it will not be best for him 
to enter the high school : and, if so, for his own 
good we should wish to know it." 

" He 's a level-headed old Pick, anyway ! " 
thought Gaspar, under the window. 

" It is n't always wise to oppose such a boy in 
everything," the visitor went on. " But if we # can 
discover the bent of his genius, and what he wishes 
most at heart, we may, perhaps, direct him in the 
right way, — not by damming the stream, but by 
turning it into a proper channel." 

His voice sounded as if he was rising to go, and 
the boy made haste to get away from the window. 

Chapter II, 


When Mr. Pike came out of the house, a few 
minutes later, he saw Gaspar Heth sitting on the 
grass where he had left him, with the little raw, 
red body of the bird on the shingle beside him, 



A N A ( ; E K . 

5' ' 

and the skin in his hands, smoothing out the ruf- 
fled plumage. 

" What sort of bird is that?" the school-master 
inquired, approaching, and leaning on his cane. 

Caspar did not answer for a moment, undecided 
whether to regard this man as a friend or an 
enemy. He shaped the wings, and holding out 
the beak and tail, said at length : 

" Don't you know it ? " 

" No, I don't ; I know very little about birds, — 
much less than I wish I did." 

"It 's a flicker," said Caspar, quite pleased to 
be able to teach the master of the high school 

" A flicker ? What 's a flicker ? " queried the 

" A high-hole," said Caspar. 

" Well ! " Mr. Pike answered good-humoredly, 
" that leaves me as ignorant as 1 was before. 
What is a high-hole ? " 

Caspar laughed. It was fun to puzzle old Pick- 
erel, and he wished some boys that he knew were 
there to witness his triumph. 

"It's a yellow-hammer," he replied. "Now 
you know." 

"Now I don't know; in fact, I know less than 
I did before," said the master. " For. if I am 
not mistaken, the yellow-hammer is a European 
species ; we have no yellow-hammer in this 

This bit of bird-knowledge took the gleeful 
Caspar by surprise. He did not respect old Pick 
any the less for it, however. 

" You are not mistaken," he said. " We have 
no true yellow-hammer. But that is one of the 
common names this bird goes by. It is called a 
flicker, too, I suppose, on account of the flashing 
yellow of its wings when it flies ; and a high-hole, 
from the holes it makes for its nest in the trunks 
of trees." 

" Now I know the bird," replied the school- 
master ; "as I think I should have done at first, 
if I had seen it on the wing. It is the pigeon- 
woodpecker, or golden-winged woodpecker, or 
golden-shafted woodpecker ; it seems to have a 
great many names." 

Gaspar was growing interested in the conver- 

" It has still another name," he said ; " voa 
ought to know that." 

"Why so?" 

" Because it is Latin, and because you are the 

" I am humiliated now ! " said the teacher, with 
a humorous, rueful smile. " I pretend to teach 
Latin, and yet I don't know the Latin name for 
this bird ! - - though, I suppose, it must be some 

sort of picas, that being the Latin name for wood- 

" That 's it," cried Gaspar, growing more and 
more animated. " Though I have always called 
it pick-us, because it picks the trees." 

" A very natural mistake," said the school- 
master. " But the i has the long sound ; and the 
word is not related to our word pick at all. This 
picas must have some other Latin word to qualify 
it, and show what particular species it is. Do you 
remember it ? " 

" Auretits j pickas auretus, or something like 

The master smiled again. 

" Not au'retus, but aura' his, my boy, with the 
accent on the long a of the second syllable ; picas 
aura'tus. That is, woodpecker decked with gold : 
and a very good name it is. 1 am not surprised 
that you did not get it quite right ; on the con- 
trary, I am surprised that you should have observed 
and remembered the Latin name at all." 

" There 's a book about birds in the public 
library; in looking it over, I 've noticed that' all 
the woodpeckers are called picas, — which I thought 
meant pickers, — and then I could n't help wonder- 
ing what some of the other words meant. I have 
asked myself what aaratas stood for, a good many 
times ; and now I am glad that I know it means 
'decked with gold.' But I can't see the use of 
giving Latin and Greek names to birds and things, 

" Perhaps I can explain it to you," said the 
master. " Take this bird, for instance. We have 
seen that it has several common names ; one of 
which, certainly, belongs to another bird. So, if 
a person speaks of a yellow-hammer, how are you 
to know whether he means this or the European 
species? In ordinary conversation you may think 
that is not very important ; but in all scientific 
descriptions, it is necessary that such names shall 
be used as can not be misunderstood." 

" But why can't men of science agree upon 
English names ?" the boy inquired. 

" That is a sensible question. The answer to 
it is that all men of science are not English- 
speaking people. There are German, French, 
Spanish, Swedish, Dutch, Russian ornithologists, 
and those of many other countries. Now, it is 
true, they might all agree upon an English name 
for each bird ; but it would be as unreasonable for 
us to expect that of foreigners, as we would con- 
sider it, if we were all required to learn a French or 
a Dutch name. It really seems much simpler and 
more convenient to use Latin and Creek names, 
which learned men in all countries agree upon 
and understand ; so that a German man of science 
will know just what a Spanish man of science is 




writing about, if he uses correct scientific terms. 
Now, take the case of this very bird. A Swedish 
naturalist, named Linnaeus, who was a great 
botanist, and classified and gave scientific names 
to plants, also gave names to many birds — to this 
species, I suppose, among others; so that, when 
picus auratus is alluded to by any writer in any 
language, ornithologists know just what bird is 
meant. So, you see, these scientific terms that you 
dislike form a sort of universal language under- 
stood by men of science the world over." 

" Can't a person be a good ornithologist without 
knowing Latin and Greek ? " Caspar inquired. 

" Oh, yes ; but he will find it very useful indeed 
to know those languages, especially as some 
species of birds have more than one scientific 
name, given them by more than one writer on the 
subject. To know at least the rudiments of Greek 
and Latin will be a great help to him ; and these 
can be acquired without very severe study. But, 
after all," the master continued, seeing the boy's 
countenance fall, " to know a thing itself is of 
much greater importance than to know fifty differ- 
ent names for it, be they ever so scientific. I sup- 
pose you have learned a great deal about this bird, 
its characteristics of form and color, its habits, its 
food, and its eggs." 

" I know all that," said Gaspar, brightening 
again. " I have its eggs, and they are beauties ! 
Six of them, pure white, about an inch long. I 
got them myself, by hard digging with a knife, out 
of a hole in a tree as long as my arm — I mean 
the hole, not the tree." 

" But did n't you feel a little sorry to take away 
the eggs from the mother bird ? " Mr. Pike vent- 
ured to say, watching the boy's face carefully. 

" I should have felt worse if I had n't known 
she would keep right on and lay more, and hatch 
her brood just the same, only somewhat later. I 
wanted the eggs for my collection." 

" Have you a collection ? I should like to see it." 

" Would you ? " said Gaspar. " Well, I 'd like 
to show it to you, if you wont mind the looks of 
my room. I am scolded every day in the year for 
the litter I keep it in, but I don't see what harm it 
does. I '11 show you my collection of bird-skins, 
too, if you like." And, as the master replied that 
he would like that, too, very much, Gaspar led the 
way into the house. 

Chapter HI. 


MRS. Heth had watched with anxious interest 
the school-master and her wayward son talking 
together in the yard ; but it was not without a feel- 

ing of dismay that she saw Gaspar bring in the 
visitor, and start with him toward the chamber 

" Gaspar ! " she cried, " what are you going to 
do ? " 

" Show my collections," said Gaspar, stiffly. 

" He wont care for your collections, and, you 
know, you keep your room in such a state that I 
am positively ashamed to have it seen," remon- 
strated the mother. 

" Excuse me, I have been in boys' rooms 
before," replied the master, "and I have a real 
desire to see his collections." 

With a face full of apprehension and distress, 
the good woman drew back into the sitting-room, 
thankful that she had at least prepared him for the 
untidy appearance of things, which the most care- 
ful and conscientious housekeeping could not per- 
manently remedy. 

Owing, perhaps, to that forewarning, Mr. Pike, 
on entering the chamber, did not appear to notice 
at all the oil-spots on the wall-paper, the scattered 
feathers and bits of cotton-wool and sticks and 
leaves on the carpet, clothing and shoes flung 
about, some loose matches on the bed, and a ham- 
mer and a handful of nails on a chair. He did not 
mean to be surprised at anything ; and he was, 
perhaps, all the more surprised for that reason. 

Gaspar began to open his bureau drawers, the 
contents of which accounted for a tumbled heap 
of shirts and socks, thrust into a box, which 
peeped out from under the bed ; all his wearing 
apparel having been removed to make space for 
the things, which, in his eyes, were of vastly 
greater importance. These were his collections ; 
and it was the order and beauty displayed in their 
arrangement, contrasted with the great disorder 
of the room, which surprised the master. 

There were eggs of various sizes, from those of 
the osprey and the great horned-owl down to those 
of the humming-bird and the smallest wren. The 
larger eggs were laid side by side in open paste- 
board boxes. " For, of course, I could n't bring 
home a night-heron's nest, or a fish-hawk's nest," 
Gaspar explained. " Guess such rafts of sticks and 
limbs would be too much, even for my room ! " 
Some of the smaller eggs, also, were in boxes. 
"For it happens, sometimes, that two or three of 
us will discover a rare nest, and, of course, only one 
can have it ; but we can share the eggs, if it has 
more than one." 

Most of the eggs, however, were in their native 
nests, which were arranged with neatness and taste. 
These were of a great variety of size and struct- 
ure, from that of the ruby-throated humming-bird, 
so diminutive and dainty, — (a soft bunch of the 
gathered down of plants, having delicately colored 

i88 4 .J 


5 L 6 

lichens stuck all over it, except in the thimble-like 
hollow which contained the two pearls of lovely white 
e gg S ) — f ro m that small miracle of bird-architect- 
ure, resembling a knot on a limb, to the larger and 
coarser nests woven of strings and sticks and hair. 

zle to me. There 's one egg in the lower nest, 
lighter-colored and much larger than the other 

" The nest is the chipping-sparrow's," said Gas- 
par ; "sometimes called the hair-bird's, because 


Mr. Pike noted these differences with a great 
deal of interest, and finally exclaimed : 

" What 's this ? It looks like a sort of two-story 
nest, with eggs above and below." 

'That's just what it is," replied Gaspar, de- 
lighted to see the interest with which the master 
regarded his treasures. " Do you see through it ? " 

" I see through it, in one sense," Mr. Pike 
replied; "for the upper story seems to have 
been rather hastily constructed. But it 's a puz- 

it is nearly always lined with horse-hair. The two 
small, bluish-green eggs in the lower story are the 
bird's own ; the larger one is that of a stranger, 
the meanest of all birds. — the cow-bunting, which 
lays its eggs in the nests of other birds." 

" I thought that was the habit of the cuckoo," 
observed the master. 

" It may be of the European cuckoo." said Gas- 
par; " I have heard that it is. But our American 
cuckoos build nests of their own. Here is one, 




built of twigs and leaves and moss, — the black 
billed cuckoo's, — which I found myself." 

The master examined the nest, but did not ap- 
pear quite convinced. 

" Are you sure ? " he asked. " Emerson says : 

'Yonder masterful cuckoo 
Crowds even- egg out of the nest, 
Quick or dead, except its own.' 

"And by "yonder cuckoo,' an American -writer 
could hardly have meant a bird across the ocean, 
if he knew what he was talking about, as Emerson 
generally did." 

" But he did n't, if he was talking about our 
native cuckoos," Gaspar declared confidently. 

The school-master smiled to see this black-eyed 
boy brush aside the words of the Concord phi- 
losopher with a disdainful gesture. Gaspar went on : 
"I 've watched the birds ever so many times: 
and don't I know ? The cow-bunting is the rogue ! 
I saw the bird go to this sparrow's nest, when 
there were two sparrow eggs in it, and it left that 
third egg. But it did n't cr ..vd out the others; it 
left its own to be hatched \v : h them, and the young 
bird to be taken care of by the sparrow, along 
with her own young. But what did the sparrow 
do ? She saw that it was a strange egg, but did 
n't know how to get rid of it : so she set to work 
with her mate to build the upper story of the 
nest, and got it ready in time to lay her next egg 
in it. But they had done their work in too great 
a hurry ; it was open to criticism, as you see. So 
they abandoned it, and I took it for my collection." 

" It is very curious ! " said the master. 

Three drawers contained the nests and eggs. 
Gaspar opened a fourth, in which were displaved 
the smallest of his bird-skins. Each had the beak 
and claws attached, and was wrapped about a slen- 
der artificial body of cotton-wool, and laid on its 
back. The different specimens of a species — the 
male and female and young — were ranged side by 
side ; those of the species nearest akin were placed 
next; and so on. through each family, sub-family, 
and order. It was a wonderful sight; all were so 
beautiful, all so still : not like dead birds, but 
rather like birds in a trance or sleep. The larger 
birds were ranged in like manner in broad paste- 
board boxes. 

" Do you know all these species and their eggs ? " 
the master inquired. 

" Oh, of course ! " said Gaspar carelessly. " It 
took me a long while to learn all the warblers and 
their eggs; for there are a great many of them, 
and some are very much alike. These are the 
warblers," he added, spreading his hands over a 
row of the smaller birds ; " the chestnut-sided, the 
blue yellow-backed, the blue-winged yellow, the 

blackpoll, the black-throated blue, the Cape May, 
the yellou-rumped, the " 

" Never mind about the rest ! " exclaimed the 
master. " I am surprised that you should have 
studied and collected so many specimens." 

" The only way to study them is to collect 
them," replied Gaspar. "Now, some folks are 
interested in books. But what I am interested in 
is birds." 

" You should be a naturalist," observed the 

"Oh! that 's what I should like to be!" said 
the boy, his dark features glowing with enthusi- 
asm. "But. no, — my folks want to make some- 
thing else of me. They think the time I spend 
studying birds is 'time thrown away.' I am 
•idling'; and I am a 'cruel wretch' because I 
take eggs and nests." 

" But do you not think, yourself, that it is a 
great pity to destroy so many eggs and birds ? " 
asked the master. " You have a beautiful display 
here ; but do you know what struck me at first ? 
Not the beauty, but the pity of it ! I am glad I 
have seen it, for now I know there is another side 
to the question than that of wanton destruction 
and cruelty." 

" Wanton destruction and cruelty ! " cried Gas- 
par, his black eyes flashing. " I never take a bird 
nor an egg that I don't need to complete my collec- 
tion. I only get my share, and hardly that. If 
you could see the host of real enemies one of 
these little sparrows has to dodge and hide away 
from before she can make a nest and raise her 
brood ! minks and snakes, and red squirrels, and 
weasels, and hawks, and jays, and butcher-birds, 
and owls, and cats, and " 

" And young collectors," put in the master, in a 
quiet tone. 

"I own." said Gaspar. " th-.t they are about 
the worst enemies that birds have, after all ! I don't 
mean the real collectors, for I believe they are 
the birds' best friends." 

'• I think the true ornithologist is a friend to the 
birds, as he must be their lover," the master ad- 
mitted. " But you know, Gaspar, as well as I do, 
that 'collecting' is a mania with boys; innocent 
enough when confined to autographs and postage- 
stamps, but harmful when it leads to the destruc- 
tion of living creatures, with no noble end in view. 
How many boys do you know who have begun 
collections of birds and eggs that will never have 
the least scientific value, but will be neglected and 
flung out-of-doors in a year or two : " 

" How many? lots of them 1 1" Gaspar answered, 
frankly. " But I am not one of 'em." 

"' You go with them, however?" 

" Yes, I go with them sometimes, for their 




company and help. There 's that Pete Cheevy ; 
he can climb trees like a squirrel, and I Ye some 
rare nests I could never have got without his 
assistance. By going with me, he has picked up 
a lot of eggs and nests ; but it 's just waste mate- 
rial for such a fellow ; all that a collection is to 
him is just something to brag of." 

"Don't you think it is a great evil, Gaspar ? 
Where is the law against such things ? ,: inquired 
the school-master. 

" Boys in this town care nothing for the law ; 
they 're in no danger, as long as there 's nobody 
to complain of them. But I wish myself, some- 
times, that the law might be enforced, — provided 
my father would get me a permit to take birds and 
eggs for scientific purposes," the boy hastened to 

"Are you sure that your purposes are scien- 
tific?" the master inquired. 

Gaspar looked down thoughtfully at his row of 
fly-catchers, smoothed the breasts of the chebec 
and the wood pewee in an absent-minded sort of 
way, — then suddenly turned his dark eyes on the 

" What do you think ? " he asked. 

Before answering, Mr. Pike put to him a few- 
questions as to his methods of preserving the eggs 
and birds, or, rather, the shells and skins ; and 
especially as to the marks by which he distin- 
guished species and ascertained the names of birds 
new to him. 

Gaspar described the process of blowing an egg, 
and of curing a skin ; then proceeded to deliver 
so intelligent and entertaining a lecture upon 
beaks and shanks and wing-coverts, mandibles. 
tarsi and primaries, that Mr. Pike listened witli 
surprise and pleasure. 

" Really, Gaspar," he said 
and instinct of a naturalist, 
find the pursuit fascinating. 

" you show the zeal 
1 don't wonder you 
How manv more of 

our native birds will it take to complete your 
collections ? " 

" I want particularly a scarlet tanager, and a 
yellow-billed cuckoo, and five or six more," replied 
the boy; "with about as many rare nests and 

"Now, Gaspar," rejoined the master, "I have 
a proposition to make, in your own interest, as 
well as that of the birds. You must agree with 
me that the wholesale destruction of birds and 
eggs by boys who have no scientific knowledge of 
the subject, and do not aspire to have, ought to 
be prohibited." 

" Yes, sir," Gaspar admitted. 

" Now, I want you to unite with me in helping 
to put a stop to it." 

" But — what — how can I ? " 

" We will get up an interest in the subject 
among the townspeople, especially among the 
boys ; and, if necessary, we will call the attention 
of the proper authorities to it ; for the destruction 
of the birds, you know, means the destruction of 
our forests and orchards and crops by injurious 
insects, which our feathered friends help to keep 
down. We will see, Gaspar, if we can not get this 
useful and humane law enforced." 

The boy's face looked gloomy. 

" In return for what you do," the master con- 
tinued, " I think I shall be able to get you a cer- 
tificate from the officers of the Natural History 
Society, which will allow you to take birds and 
eggs for strictly scientific purposes." 

The boy's face brightened. 

" Now, that is fair, is it not ? " said Mr. Pike,. in 
a cheery tone. 

" Yes — but — I don't know ! " stammered Gas- 
par. "It will be hard for me to go back on the 
fellows who have hunted birds and nests with me 
before now." 

" You need n't ' go back on them', as you say, or 
do anything mean and dishonorable. But what is 
to prevent your telling them that a movement is 
on foot to enforce the law, and that you, for one, 
intend to obey the law in future ? " 

Gaspar laughed with those bright black eyes 
of his. 

" They would n't believe me ! " 

" What, have you so bad a reputation as a law- 
breaker ? I am sorry to hear it ! But you can 
mend it by mending your practices, and soon teach 
the boys that you are in earnest. Now promise me 
that you will help on by word and example the 
movement I propose, and I promise to get you 
the permit." 

After some hesitation, Gaspar made the promise. 
Mr. Pike gave him his hand. 

' ' I am very glad that I have had this talk with 
you, Gaspar. And now I am going to tell you 
frankly that I really came here to-day to con- 
sult with your parents about your entering the 
high school." 

" I knew you did," said Gaspar, rather shame- 

"And that is the reason why you were, perhaps, a 
little short with me as I came in ? Well, never mind ; 
you would have been more courteous, perhaps, if 
you had understood me better. I am not going to 
urge your parents to send you to school, unless you 
see, yourself, that you ought to go. Whatever you 
make of yourself in life, you will find a little more 
education than you now have extremely useful ; 
and especially, if you mean to be an ornithologist, 
you should acquire a good, liberal, general knowl- 
edge, and learn how to describe your observations 




and discoveries with correctness and force. Think 
of it, will you ? Meanwhile, I will talk with your 
parents, and help them to a better understanding of 
you and your aims than they now have. Remem- 
ber your promise, Caspar, about the boys and 
birds ! " 

Mr. Pike afterward talked again with Mrs. Heth, 
and gave her much comfort and encouragement 
regarding her son. He lost no time in applying 
for the certificate, which he had promised, on his 
part ; and, when he found that a small fee for it 
was required, gladly paid it out of his own pocket. 

In the meantime, he became better acquainted with 
Caspar, and had good reason to believe that his 
influence might do much toward reforming the boy, 
and likewise in preserving the birds of the neigh- 
borhood from wanton destruction. 

Everything was, in fact, going on favorably when 
Caspar one day suddenly disappeared, — disap- 
peared as mysteriously and completely as if he had 
vanished in air, or had been swallowed up by the 

What strange thing had happened to him will 
be told in a future chapter. 

(To be continued.) 

^E^^^Il'Of liif k>r>^ cfe/cent '5 Tcxtfver Vain; 
^S!s^o^~i~^5 object 1'n li/e . cnKof me call aim 
IS livinh up to Kij noole name , 
JDejpit'? remarh.5 of ill-bred people?, 
*~i~le jjf; raifk care upon the steeple; 
L JuX y i$ never done mithouf pain 
iL^plam; jOlanfacjenet T~)orman Dane 




Bv Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 

Dear Girls: 

The Editor asks, " Will I not talk to her girls ? " 
Of course, I will ! I would rather talk to one girl 
than to a planet-full of other people any time. 
And she asks, " Will I tell them something of what 
I think about girls' supporting themselves ? " 

There was once an old negro preacher, who 
said: "My bredren, if I had all heaven for my 
pulpit, and all earth for my congregation, and 
all eternity for my Sunday mornin', de tex I hab 
chosen to-day is de tex I'd choose on dat occasion." 
And, indeed, if I had the summer lightning for 
my magazine columns, and all the girls in North 
America for my readers, and the long vacation to 
talk in, the text which the editor has given me is 
the one I should "choose on dat occasion." 

Dear Girls, there are just two things to be said 
on this large, long, broad question. The first is 
only : Do it .' The second is only : Do it thor- 
oughly ! And have I no doubt that girls are made 
to support themselves ? None in the world. And 
am I sure that they can support themselves? 
Perfectly sure. And do I believe that they ought, to 
support themselves ? With belief unspeakable. 
But would I have them neglect their parents, and 
desert their homes, and be disagreeable to their 
brothers, and ruin their health, and spoil their 
manners, and never get married ? 

Let us begin like the old Chaldeans, and read 
those six solemn questions backwards. Never get 
married ? By no means ! if you have no command 
of any trade or profession which will enable you to 
provide for your family under any of the many ter- 
rible emergencies of sickness, or death, or misfort- 
une, or sin, which may throw that provision upon 
the woman's hands. By all means get married, if 
you love a man enough to face these emergencies 
for his sake i 

Spoil your manners ? If a lady is less a lady 
for earning her own living, she never was a lady at 
all, and her manners are not worth the ink I am 
expending upon the mention of them. 

Ruin your health? If you are strong enough 
to live an idle or frivolous or dependent life, you 
have done the hardest work you will ever find 
yourself in the way of doing. You could be a 
carpenter, with less risk to muscle and nerve and 
brain and tissue, than to live the life that many 
girls live after leaving school. 

Estrange your brothers ? If your brothers 
think the less of you for an honest determination 

to be able to take care of yourself, they don't de- 
serve a good sister, and don't know her when they 
see her. 

Desert your home ? Not so long as Heaven 
spares you that blessed thing to cling to ! Re- 
main in it if you may ; absent yourself from it if 
you must ; but keep your heart as true to it as 
loyal love can be. 

Neglect your parents ? I would rather that 
you neglected yourself. 

And just here let me say that I understand, and 
you understand, and we all understand that some 
girls must stay at home and accept a depend- 
ent life. So must some boys. To all our sweep- 
ing rules we have sharp exceptions. Now and 
then, the incompetent father, or the feeble moth- 
er, or the eiying brothers, or the sad, untold fam- 
ily secret demands the devotion of the entire 
individual life of some one child. Now and then 
the child herself or himself is sorely burdened with 
incapacity or disease, which makes even an ac- 
quaintance with the means of pursuing an inde- 
pendent career a doubtful or an impossible thing, 
and the monotony of sheltered, small, home 
duties the better, truer life. This happens to 
brothers as well as to sisters. It need not happen 
because you are a girl. It should happen only 
because you are an exceptional girl. 

Then, do I think that, as a rule, girls should learn 
to provide for themselves ? Asa rule, most assuredly ! 
As a rule, it is honester, safer, nobler, and more 
womanly for a woman to be able to care for herself 
and for the father, or mother, or brother, or hus- 
band, or child, whom a hundred chances may, at 
any hour, fling upon her warm heart and brave hand 
for protection. As a rule, a girl should make her- 
self mistress of some industry, or art, or profession, 
or trade, which has a market value in the great 
struggle for existence into which God has plunged 
this weary world. 

As a rule, she can succeed in doing this if she 
determine to, and will fail in it if she does not. 

Girls, first make up jour minds that you will be 
something ! All the rest will follow. What you 
shall be comes more easily and clearly in due time. 
When you have perfectly and solemnly decided to 
be something, your battle is half fought. A young 
lady, herself the only self-supporting sister of sev- 
eral in a family, poor, proud, and struggling, once 
said to me: "I, for one, am sure that, if a girl 
wants to command an independent means of live- 




lihood, she will find out the way. " And this, as a 
rule, is golden truth. There are exceptional par- 
ents, as there are exceptional daughters. But this 
you may depend upon, little women ! if your 
whole heart is set upon, and your whole head is 
trained for, becoming an elocutionist, or a green- 
grocer, or an engraver, or a florist, or a singer, 
or a doctor, the chances are that elocutionist, or 
green-grocer, or engraver, or florist, or singer, or 
doctor you will be. Your mother may forbid you 
a whim ; she will not disregard a purpose. Your 
father may laugh at a notion ; he will respect an 
enthusiasm. You will not find a friend to encour- 
age you in jerky, hysteric, vague attempts to ac- 
quire fame without genius, or wealth without labor, 
or success without perseverance. You may find for 
your unswerving aspiration, and your dogged hard 
work, — you may find — ah, my dear girls! I 
wish I could say you will find — as many help- 
ing hands as your brothers will find. But that is 
not yet ; perhaps the day will come. Women 
must work yet awhile under discouragement such 
as only women know. Don't expert the help 
your brother gets ! Make up your mind to that in 
the beginning. I am only saying that, once your 
mind is made, you will find help enough to enable 
you to keep it in shape; and, after all, that is a 
great deal. 

Now, the earlier you do this the better. A girl 
of thirteen can not decide, to be sure, with any dis- 
cretion or any assurance, whether she will be a 
sculptor or a wash-woman, a farmer or a poet ; 
but she can decide distinctly whether it is her 
wish or her duty, after leaving school or college, 
to remain dependent upon her parents or to fit 
herself for a self-providing life. 

The education by which you mean to get your 
bread and butter, your gloves and bonnets is a very 
different affair from that which you take upon 
yourself as an ornament and an interval in life. 
The chemical experiment which you may some 
day have to explain to pupils of your own is quite 
another thing from the lesson that you may never 
think of again. The practice in book-keeping, 
which may some time regulate your dealings with 
live, flesh-and-blood customers, becomes as inter- 
esting as a new story. The dull old rules for 
inflection and enunciation fairly turn into poetry, 
if you hope to find yourself a great public reader 
some coming day. And the very sawdust of the 
French or Latin grammar becomes ashes of roses 
to the stout little fancy that dreams of brave work 
and big salary, in some foreign department at 
Washington, or tutoring girls or boys for college. 
All over the terrible ocean, among the lawless 
sailors, the men with wives and children to work 
for, are those who lead the gentlest and cleanest 

lives. So, on the great ocean of school-life, the 
girls, with aims to study for, are those whose labor 
is the richest and the ripest. Ah ! you will never 
realize till 5011 have tried it what an immense power 
over the life is the power of possessing distinct aims. 
The voice, the dress, the look, the very motions 
of a person define and alter when he or she begins 
to live for a reason. I fancy that I can select in a 
crowded street the busy, blessed women who sup- 
port themselves. They carry themselves with an 
air of conscious self-respect and self-content which 
a shabby alpaca can not hide, nor a Bonnet silk 
enhance, nor even sickness or exhaustion quite 
drag out. 

But, girls, if you don't mean to make a thorough 
business of the occupation you have chosen, never, 
never, never begin to be occupied at all. Half- 
finished work will do for amateurs. It will never 
answer for professionals. The bracket you are 
sewing for a New Year's present can hang a little 
crooked on its screws, and you will be forgiven " for 
the love's sake found therein " by the dear heart 
to which you offer it ; but the trinket carved for 
sale in the Sorrento rooms must be cut as true as 
a rose-leaf. You can be a little shaky as to your 
German declensions in the Schiller club, which 
you join so enthusiastically after leaving school, 
and no great harm ever come of it ; but teach 
Schiller for a living, and for every dative case 
forgotten you are so much money out of pocket. 

People who pay for a thing demand thorough 
workmanship or none. To offer incomplete work 
for complete market price, is to be either a 
cheat or a beggar. The terrible grinding laws 
of supply and demand, pay and receive, give 
and get, give no quarter to shilly-shally labor. 
The excellence of your intentions is nothing to the 
point. The stress of your poverty has not the 
slightest connection with the case. An editor 
will never pay you for your poem because you 
wish to help your mother. No customer will buy 
her best bonnet or her wheat flour of you because 
you are unable to pay your rent. When you have 
entered the world of trade, you have entered a world 
where tenderness and charity and personal inter- 
est are foreign relations. Not " for friendship's 
sake," nor '"for pity's sake," nor "for chivalry's 
sake " runs the great rallying-cry of this great 
world. — but only "for value received.'' 

It is with sorrow and shame, but yet with hope 
and courage, that I write it, — there is reason for 
the extensive complaint made by men, that women 
do not work thoroughly. I am afraid that, till 
time and trouble shall have taught them better, 
they will not. Is it because they have never been 
trained ? Is it because they expect to be married ? 
That it is not in the least because thev can not, 



we know ; for we know that some of the most mag- 
nificently accurate work in the world has been 
done by women. 

Now, you who are the girls of to-day. must find 
for yourselves, and teach us all a better way. 
Make up your minds to work hard and to work 
patiently. Don't expect to get the return of skilled 
labor for unskilled effort. Remember that, no mat- 
ter what you intend to become, you can not avoid 
apprenticeship. Don't expect, if you bring your edu- 
cation to an end at eighteen, to become a teacher or 
a preacher, a lawyer or a physician, like your brother 
whose preparatory studies last till he is twenty-rive. 
Don't think you can rush to the art-galleries, and 
sell your amateur water-colors in competition with 
artists who have given years and years of drudgery 
to the handling" of their brushes and the culture 
of their inspirations. Don't expect The Century 
Magazine to print your stories till you have 
first thrown a great many poor manuscripts into 
the fire. If you wish to go into the book-seller's 
business, be content to begin by familiarizing your- 
self with the backs of libraries. If you aspire to 
be a railroad ticket agent (like a few bright women 
I have seen), learn your arithmetic lesson keenly, 
that you may make quick change for hurried peo- 
ple. Be content to begin humbly ! Be careful to 
labor faithfully ! Be patient to toil long ! 

One of the foremost of modern novelists was a 
woman — a woman whose patience was as immense 

as her fame, and her lame is owing as much to 
her patience as to her genius. In her great story 
of Daniel Deronda George Eliot puts into the 
mouth of a musician addressing a young lady who 
has aspirations for the stage, these memorable, 
cutting words : 

" ' You have been brought up in ease, — you have done what you 
would, — you have not said to yourself, " I must know this exactly," 
" I must understand thiscxactly," ,; I must do this exactly." Inutter- 
ing these three terrible musts, Klesmer lifted up three long fingers in 
succession. ' It seems you have not been called upon to be anything 
but a charming young lady whom it is an impoliteness to find fault 
with. * You would find, after your education in doing things 

slackly, * great difficulties in study. You would be subjected 

[o tests; people would no longer feign not to see your blunder. You 
would at first be accepted only on trial. * * Any success must 

be won by the utmost patience. You would have 10 keep your place 
in a crowd : and after all, it is likely you would lose it and get out 
of sight. If you determine to face these hardships and still try, you 
will have the dignity of a. high purpose. * You will have 

some merit, though you may win no prize.' " 

But now I have told you to work, and work 
thoroughly. I have n't helped you in the least 
to know what to do, or how to do it ? 

Why no, my dear girls, I suppose I have n't. 
That would take as long as the negro wanted to 
take for his sermon. Perhaps some other time, if 
you care to hear me, I will talk to you further 
about these things. Only believe me to lie right 
in this: When once your mind is firmly and hope- 
fully made up to work, the what and the how will 
follow fast enough. 




By Frank R. Stockton. 



There were once a Prince and a Princess who, 
when quite young, ate a philopena together. 
They agreed that the one who, after sunrise the 
next day, should accept anything from the other 

— the giver at the same time saying '^Philopena!" 

— should be the loser, and that the loser should 
marry the other. 

They did not meet the next day ; and at the 
time our story begins, many years had elapsed, 
and the Prince and the Princess were nearly grown 
up. They often thought of the philopena they 
had eaten together, and wondered if they should 
know each other when the) met. He remembered 
her as a pretty little girl dressed in green silk and 
playing with a snow-white cat ; while she remem- 
bered him as a handsome boy, wearing a little 
sword, the handle of which was covered with 
jewels. But both must have changed a great deal 
in all this time. 

Neither of these young people had any parents ; 
the Prince lived with guardians and the Princess 
with uncles. 

The guardians of the Prince were very enter- 
prising and energetic men. and were allowed to 
govern the country until the Prince came of age. 
The capital city was a very fine city when the old 
king died ; but the guardians thought it might be 
much finer, so thev set to work with all their might 

and main to improve it. They tore down old 
houses and made ever so many new streets ; they 
built grand and splendid bridges over the river on 
which the city stood : they constructed aqueducts 
to bring water from streams ever so many miles 
away : and they were at work all the time upon 
some great building enterprise. 

The Prince did not seem to take much interest 
in the works which were going or. under direc- 
tion of his guardians ; and when he rode out, 
he preferred to go into the country or to ride 
through some of the quaint old streets, where 
nothing had been changed for hundreds of years. 

The uncles of the Princess were very different 
people from the guardians of the Prince. There 
were three of them, and they were very quiet and 
cozy old men, who disliked any kind of bustle or 
disturbance, and wished that everything might 
remain as they had always known it. It even 
worried them a little to find that the Princess was 
growing up. They would have much preferred 
that she should remain exactly as she was when 
they first took charge of her. Then they never 
would have been obliged to worry their minds 
about any changes in the way of taking care of 
her. But they did not worry their minds very much, 
after all. They wished to make her guardianship 
as little laborious or exhausting as possible, and 


52 1 

so, divided the work ; one of them took charge of 
her education, another of her food and lodging, 
and the third of her dress. The first sent for 
teachers, and told them to teach her ; the second 
had handsome apartments prepared for her use, 
and gave orders that she should have everything 
she needed to eat and drink ; while the third com- 
manded that she should have a complete outfit of 
new clothes four times a year. Thus everything 
went on very quietly and smoothly ; and the three 
uncles were not obliged to exhaust themselves by- 
hard work. There were never any new houses 
built, and if anything had to be repaired, it was 
done with as little noise and dirt as possible. The 
city and the whole kingdom were quiet and serene, 
and the three uncles dozed away most of the day 
in three great comfortable thrones. 

Everybody seemed satisfied with this state of 
things except the Princess. She often thought to 
herself that nothing would be more delightful than 
a little noise and motion, and she wondered if the 
whole world were as quiet as the city in which she 
lived. At last, she became unable to bear the 
dreadful stillness of the place any longer; but she 
could think of nothing to do but to go and try to 
find the Prince with whom she had eaten a philo- 
pena. If she should win, he must marry her; and 
then, perhaps, they could settle down in some 
place where things would be bright and lively. 
So, early one morning, she put on her white 
dress, and mounting her prancing black horse, 
she rode away from the city. Only one per- 
son saw her go, for nearly all the people 
were asleep. 

About this time, the Prince made up his 
mind that he could no longer stand the din 
and confusion, the everlasting up-setting and 
setting-up in his native city. He would go 
away, and see if he could find the Princess t 

with whom he had eaten a philopena. If he 
should win, she would be obliged to marry 
him ; and then, perhaps, they could settle 
down in some place where it was quiet and 
peaceful. So, on the same morning in which 
the Princess rode away, he put on a hand- 
some suit of black clothes, and mounting a 
gentle white horse, he rode out of the city. 
Only one person saw him go ; for, even at that 
early hour, the people were so busy that little 
attention was paid to his movements. 

About half-way between these two cities, in a 
tall tower which stood upon a hill, there lived an 
Inquisitive Dwarf, whose whole object in life was 
to find out what people were doing and why they 
did it. From the top of this tower he generally 
managed to see all that was going on in the sur- 
rounding country ; and in each of the two cities 
Vol. XI. -34. 

that have been mentioned he had an agent, whose 
duty it was to send him word, by means of carrier 
pigeons, whenever a new thing happened. Before 
breakfast, on the morning when the Prince and 
Princess rode away, a pigeon from the city of the 
Prince came flying to the tower of the Inquisitive 

" Some new building started, I suppose," said 
the Dwarf, as he took the paper from the pigeon. 
" But no ; it is very different ! ' The Prince has rid- 
den away from the city alone, and is traveling to 
the north.' " 

But before he could begin to puzzle his brains 
about the meaning of this departure, another pigeon 
came flying in from the city of the Princess. 

"Well!" cried the Dwarf, "this is amazing! 
It is a long time since I have had a message from 
that city, and my agent has been drawing his 
salary without doing any work. What possibly 
can have happened there ? " 

When he read that the Princess had ridden 
alone from the city that morning, and was traveling 
to the south, he was truly amazed. 

" What on earth can it mean?" he exclaimed. 
"If the city of the Prince were to the south of 
that of the Princess, then I might understand it; 
for they would be going to see each other, and that 
would be natural enough. But as his city is to the 
north of her city, they are traveling in opposite 
directions. And what is the meaning of this ? I 
must most certainly find out." 


The Inquisitive Dwarf had three servants whom 
he employed to attend to his most important busi- 
ness. These were a Gorgoness. a Water Sprite, 
and an Absolute Fool. This last one was very 
valuable ; for there were some things he would do 
which no one else would think of attempting. 
The Dwarf called to him the Gorgoness, the oldest 
and most discreet of the three, and told her of the 
departure of the Princess. 

" Hasten southward." he said, "as fast as vou 




can, and follow her, and do not return to me until 
you have found out why she left her city, where 
she is going, and what she expects to do when she 
gets there. Your appearance may frighten her; 
and, therefore, you must take with you the Abso- 
lute Fool, to whom she will probably be willing to 
talk ; but you must see that everything is managed 

Having dispatched these two, the Inquisitive 
Dwarf then called the Water Sprite, who was sing- 
ing to herself at the edge of a fountain, and telling 
her of the departure of the Prince, ordered her 
to follow him, and not to return until she had found 
out why he left his city, where he was going, and 
what he intended to do when he got there. 

"The road to the north," he said, "lies along 
the river bank; therefore, you can easily keep him 

The Water Sprite bowed, and dancing over the 
dewy grass to the river, threw herself into it. Some- 
times she swam beneath the clear water ; some- 
times she rose partly in the air, where she seemed 
like a little cloud of sparkling mist borne onward 
by the wind ; and sometimes she floated upon the 
surface, her pale blue robes undulating with the 
gentle waves, while her white hands and feet shone 
in the sun like tiny crests of foam. Thus, singing 
to herself, she went joyously and rapidly on, aided 
by a full, strong wind from the south. She did 
not forget to glance every now and then upon the 
road which ran along the river bank ; and, in the 
course of the morning, she perceived the Prince. 
He was sitting in the shade of a tree near the 
water's edge, while his gentle white horse was 
grazing near by. 

The Water Sprite came very gently out of the 
river, and seating herself upon the edge of a grassy 
bank, she spoke to him. The Prince looked up in 
astonishment, but there was nothing in her appear- 
ance to frighten him. 

" I came," said the Water Sprite, " at the com- 
mand of my master, to ask you why you left your 
city, where y-ou are going, and what you intend to 
do when you get there." 

The Prince then told her why he had left his 
city, and what he intended to do when he had 
found the Princess. 

"But where I am going," he said, "1 do not 
know, myself. I must travel and travel until I suc- 
ceed in the object of my search." 

The Water Sprite reflected for a moment, and 
then she said : 

" If I were you, I would not travel to the north. 
It is cold and dreary there, and your Princess 
would not dwell in such a region. A little above 
us, on the other side of this river, there is a stream 
which runs sometimes to the east and sometimes 

to the south, and which leads to the Land of the 
Lovely Lakes. This is the most beautiful country 
in the world, and you will be much more likely to 
find your Princess there than among the desolate 
mountains of the north." 

" I dare say you are right," said the Prince ; 
"and I will go there, if you will show me the 

"The road runs along the bank of the river," 
said the Water Sprite ; " and we shall soon reach 
the Land of the Lovely Lakes." 

The Prince then mounted his horse, forded the 
river, and was soon riding along the bank of the 
stream, while the Water Sprite gayly floated upon 
its dancing ripples. 

When the Gorgoness started southward, in pur- 
suit of the Princess, she kept out of sight among 
the bushes by the roadside ; but sped swiftly along. 
The Absolute Fool, however, mounted upon a 
good horse, rode boldly on the road. He was 
a good-looking youth, with rosy cheeks, bright 
eyes, and a handsome figure. As he cantered 
gayly along, he felt himself capable of every noble 
action which the human mind has ever conceived. 
The Gorgoness kept near him, and in the course 
of the 'morning they overtook the Princess, who 
was allowing her horse to walk in the shade by the 
roadside. The Absolute Fool dashed up to her, 
and, taking off his hat, asked her why she had left 
her city, where she was going, and what she 
intended to do when she got there. 

The Princess looked at him in surprise. " I 
left my city because I wanted to," she said. " I 
am going about my business, and when I get to 
the proper place, I will attend to it." 

" Oh, said the Absolute Fool, " you refuse me 
your confidence, do you ? But allow me to remark 
that I have a Gorgoness with me who is very 
frightful to look at, and whom it was my intention 
to keep in the bushes : but if you will not give fair 
answers to my questions, she must come out and 
talk to you, and that is all there is about it." 

" If there is a Gorgoness in the bushes," said 
the Princess, "let her come out. No matter how 
frightful she is, I would rather she should come 
where I can see her, than to have her hiding near 

The Gorgoness, who had heard these words, 
now came out into the road. The horse of the 
Princess reared in affright, but his young rider 
patted him on the neck, and quieted his fears. 

"What do you and this young man want?" 
said the Princess to the Gorgoness, "and why do 
you question me ? " 

" It is not of our own will that we do it," said 
the Gorgoness, very respectfully ; " but our master, 


5 2 3 

the Inquisitive Dwarf, has sent us to obtain infor- 
mation about the points on which the young man 
questioned you ; and until we have found out these 
things, it is impossible for us to return." 

" I am opposed to answering impertinent ques- 
tions," replied the Princess ; " but in order to rid 
myself of you, I will tell you the reason of my 

report to you to-morrow morning. And if you 
should need help, or escort, he will aid and obey 
you as your servant. As for me, unless we find 
the Prince, I shall continue searching for him. 
There is a prince in the city to the north of my 
master's tower, and it is not unlikely that it is he 
whom you seek." 


journev." And she then stated briefly the facts 
of the case. 

"Ah, me !" said the Gorgoness ; "I am very 
sorry ; but you can not tell us where you are going, 
and we can not return until we know that. But 
you need not desire to be rid of us, for it may be 
that we can assist you in the object of your journey. 
This young man is sometimes very useful, and I 
shall be glad to do anything that I can to help 
you. If you should think that I would injure you, 
or willingly annoy you by my presence, it would 
grieve me to the heart." And as she spoke, a 
tear bedimmed her eye. 

The Princess was touched by the emotion of the 

"You may accompany me," she said, '"and I 
will trust you both. You must know this country 
better than I do. Have you any advice to give me 
in regard to my journey ? " 

"One thing I would strongly advise," said the 
Gorgoness, " and that is, that you do not travel 
any further until we know in what direction it will 
be best to go. There is an inn close by, kept by 
a worthy woman. If you will stop there until 
to-morrow, this young man and I will scour the 
country 'round about, and try to find some news 
of vour Prince. The young man will return and 

" You can find out if it is he," answered the 
Princess, "by asking about the philopena." 

"That will I do," said the Gorgoness, "and I 
will return hither as speedily as possible." And, 
with a respectful salutation, the Gorgoness and 
the Absolute Fool departed by different ways. 

The Princess then repaired to the inn, where 
she took lodgings. 

The next morning, the Absolute Fool came back 
to the inn, and seeing the Princess, said : "I rode 
until long after night-fall, searching for the Prince, 
before it occurred to me that, even if I should find 
him, I would not know him in the dark. As soon 
as I thought of that, I rode straight to the nearest 
house, and slept till daybreak, when I remembered 
that I was to report to you this morning. But as I 
have heard no news of the Prince, and as this is a 
beautiful, clear day, I think it would be extremely 
foolish to remain idly here, where there is nothing 
of interest going on. and when a single hour's 
delay may cause you to miss the object of your 
search. The Prince may be in one place this 
morning, and there is no knowing where he will 
be in the afternoon. While the Gorgoness is 
searching, we should search also. We can return 
before sunset, and we will leave word here as to 
the direction we have taken, so that when she 




returns, she can quickly overtake us. It is my 
opinion that not a moment should be lost. I will 
be your guide. I know this country well." 

The Princess thought this sounded like good 
reasoning, and consented to set out. There were 
some beautiful mountains to the south-east ; and 
among these, the Absolute Fool declared, a prince 
of good taste would be very apt to dwell. They, 
therefore, took this direction. But when they had 
traveled an hour or more, the mountains began to 
look bare and bleak, and the Absolute Fool de- 
clared that he did not believe any prince would 
live there. He therefore advised that they turn 
into a road that led to the north-east. It was a 
good road ; and therefore he thought it led to a 
good place, where a person of good sense would 
be likely to reside. Along this road they therefore 
traveled. They had ridden but a few miles when 
they met three men, well armed and mounted. 
These men drew up their horses, and respectfully 
saluted the Princess. 

''High-born Lady," they said, "for by your 
aspect we know you to be such, we would inform 
you that we are the soldiers of the King, the out- 
skirts of whose dominions you have reached. It 
is our duty to question all travelers, and, if their 
object in coming to our country is a good one, to 
give them whatever assistance and information 
they may require. Will you tell us why you 
come ? " 

'■ Impertinent vassals ! " cried the Absolute Fool, 
riding up in a great passion. " How dare you in- 
terfere with a princess who has left her city 
because it was so dull and stupid, and is endeav- 
oring to find a prince, with whom she has eaten a 
philopena, in order that she may marry him. Out 
of my way, or I will draw my sword and cleave you 
to the earth, and thus punish your unwarrantable 
curiosity ! " 

The soldiers could' not repress a smile. 

" In order to prevent mischief," they said to the 
Absolute Fool, "we shall be obliged to take you 
into custody." 

This they immediately did, and then requested 
the Princess to accompany them to the palace of 
their King,' where she would receive hospitality 
and aid. 

The King welcomed the Princess with great 
cordiality. He had no prince of his own, and he 
was very sorry that he had not ; for, in that case, 
he would hope that he might be the person for 
whom she was looking. But there was a prince, 
who lived in a city to the north, who was probably 
the very man ; and he would send and make 
inquiries. In the meantime, the Princess would 
be entertained by himself and his Queen ; and, if 
her servant would make a suitable apology, his 

violent language would be pardoned. But the 
Absolute Fool positively refused to do this. 

"I never apologize," he cried. "No man of 
spirit would do such a thing. What I sav, I stand 
by." . 

"Very well," said the King; "then you shall 
fight a wild beast." And he gave orders that the 
affair should be arranged for the following day. 

In a short time, however, some of his officers 
came to him and told him that there were no wild 
beasts ; those on hand having been kept so long 
that they had become tame. 

" To be sure, there 's the old lion, Sardon," they 
said ; " but he is so dreadfully cross and has had so 
much experience in these fights, that for a long 
time it has n't been considered fair to allow any 
one to enter the ring with him." 

"It is a pity," said the King, "to make the 
young man fight a tame beast ; but, under the 
circumstances, the best thing to do will be to rep- 
resent the case to him, just as it is. Tell him we 
are sorry we have not an ordinary wild beast ; but 
that he can take his choice between a tame one 
and the lion Sardon, whose disposition and ex- 
perience you will explain to him." 

When the matter was stated to the Absolute 
Fool, he refused with great scorn to fight a tame 

" I will not be degraded in the eyes of the pub- 
lic," he said ; " I will take the old lion." 

The next day, the court and the public assembled 
to see the fight ; but the Queen and our Princess 
took a ride into the country, not wishing to witness 
a combat of this kind, especially one which was so 
unequal. The King ordered that every advantage 
should be given to the young man, in order that 
he might have every possible chance of success in 
fighting an animal which had been a victor on so 
many similar occasions. A large iron cage, fur- 
nished with a turnstile, into which the Absolute 
Fool could retire for rest and refreshment, but 
where the lion could not follow him, was placed in 
the middle of the arena, and the youth was fur- 
nished with all the weapons he desired. When all 
was ready, the Absolute Fool took his stand in 
the center of the arena, and the door of the lion's 
den was opened. When the great beast came out, he 
looked about for an instant, and then, with majestic 
step, advanced toward the young man. When he 
was within a few paces of him, he crouched for a 

The Absolute Fool had never seen so mag- 
nificent a creature, and he could not restrain his 
admiration. With folded arms and sparkling eyes, 
he gazed with delight upon the lion's massive 
head, his long and flowing mane, his magnifi- 
cent muscles, and his powerful feet and legs. 

i88 4 .] 


5 2 5 

There was an air of grandeur and strength about 
him which completely enraptured the youth. Ap- 
proaching the lion, he knelt before him, and gazed 
with wondering ecstasy into his great, glowing 
eyes. "What glorious orbs!" he inwardly ex- 
claimed. "What unfathomable expression ! What 
possibilities ! What reminiscences ! And every- 
where, what majesty of curve ! " 

peared , for he was as much delighted as any one 
at the victory of the young man. 

" Noble youth," he exclaimed, " you are the 
bravest of the brave. You are the only man I 
know who is worthy of our royal daughter, and 
you shall marry her forthwith. Long since, I 
vowed that only with the bravest should she wed." 

At this moment, the Queen and the Princess, 



The lion was a good deal astonished at the con- 
duct of the young man ; and he soon began to 
suppose that this was not the person he was to 
fight, but probably a keeper, who was examining 
into his condition. After submitting to this 
scrutiny a few minutes, he gave a mighty yawn, 
which startled the spectators, but which delighted 
the Absolute Fool ; for never before had he beheld 
such dazzling teeth, such immensity of expression. 
He knelt in silent delight at this exhibition of the 
beauty of strength. 

Old Sardon soon became tired of all this, how- 
ever, and he turned and walked back to his den. 
" When their man is ready," he thought to hi n- 
self, " I will come out and fight him." 

One tremendous shout now arose from the mul- 
titude. " The youth has conquered ! " they cried. 
" He has actually frightened the lion back into his 
den!" Rushing into the arena, they raised the 
Absolute Fool upon their shoulders and carried 
him in triumph to the open square in front of the 
palace, that he might be rewarded for his bravery. 
Here the King, followed by his court, quickly ap- 

returning from their ride, heard with joy the result 
of the combat ; and riding up to the victor, the 
Queen declared that she would gladly join with 
her royal husband in giving their daughter to so 
brave a man. 

The Absolute Fool stood for a moment in silent 
thought ; then, addressing the King, he said : 

" Was Your Majesty's father a king?" 

" He was," was the answer. 

" Was his father of royal blood ? " 

"No; he was not." replied the King. "My 
grandfather was a man of the people ; but his pre- 
eminent virtue, his great ability as a statesman, 
and the dignity and nobility of his character made 
him the unanimous choice of the nation as its 

" I am sorry to hear that," said the Absolute 
Fool ; " for it makes it necessary for me to decline 
the kind offer of your daughter in marriage. If I 
marry a princess at all, she must be one who can 
trace back her lineage through a long line of royal 
ancestors." And as he spoke, his breast swelled 
with manly pride. 




For a moment, the King was dumb with rage. 
Then loudly he shouted : " Ho, guards ! Annihi- 
late him ! Avenge this insult ! " 

At these words, the sword of every by-stander 
leaped from its scabbard; but, before any one could 
take a step forward, the Princess seized the Abso- 
lute Fool by his long and flowing locks, and put 
spurs to her horse. The young man yelled with 
pain, and shouted to her to let go; but she held 
firmly to his hair, and as he was extraordinarily 
active and fleet of foot, he kept pace with the gal- 
loping horse. A great crowd of people started in 
pursuit, but as none of them were mounted, they 
were soon left behind. 

" Let go my hair ! Let go my hair ! " shouted 
the Absolute Fool, as he bounded along. " You 
don't know how it hurts. Let go ! Let go ! " 

But the Princess never relinquished her hold 
until they were out of the King's domain. 

"A little more," cried the indignant youth, 
when she let him go, " and you would have pulled 
out a handful of my hair." 

"A little less," said the Princess, contemptuously, 
" and you would have been cut to pieces ; for you 
have not sense enough to take care of yourself. 
I am sorry 1 listened to you, and left the inn to 
which the Gorgoness took me. It would have been 
far better to have waited there for her as she told 
me to do." 

" Yes," said the Absolute Fool ; " it would have 
been much better." 

"Now," said the Princess, "we will go back 
there, and see if she has returned." 

" If we can find it," said the other, "which I 
very much doubt." 

There were several roads at this point and, of 
course, they took the wrong one. As they went 
on, the Absolute Fool complained bitterly that he 
had left his horse behind him, and was obliged to 
walk. Sometimes he stopped, and said he would 
go back after it ; but this the Princess sternly 

When the Gorgoness reached the city of the 
Prince, it was night ; but she was not sorry for this. 
She did not like to show herself much in the day- 
time, because so many people were frightened by 
her. After a good deal of trouble, she discovered 
that the Prince had certainly left the city, although 
his guardians did not seem to be aware of it. They 
were so busy with a new palace, in part of which 
they were living, that they could not be expected 
to keep a constant eye upon him. In the morning, 
she met an old man who knew her, and was not 
afraid of her, and who told her that the day before, 
when he was up the river, he had seen the Prince 
on his white horse, riding on the bank of the 

stream ; and that near him, in the water, was 
something which now looked like a woman, and 
again like a puff of mist. The Gorgoness reflected. 

" If the Prince has gone off in that way," she 
said to herself, " I believe that he is the very one 
whom the Princess is looking for, and that he has 
set out in search of her ; and that creature in the 
water must be our Water Sprite, whom our master 
has probably sent out to discover where the Prince 
is going. If he had told me about this, it would 
have saved much trouble. From the direction in 
which they were going, I feel sure that the Water 
Sprite was taking the Prince to the Land of the 
Lovely Lakes. She never fails to go there, if she 
can possibly get an excuse. I '11 follow them. I 
suppose the Princess will be tired, waiting at the 
inn ; but I must know where the Prince is, and if 
he is really her Prince, before I go back to her." 

When the Gorgoness reached the Land of the 
Lovely Lakes, she wandered all that day and the 
next night ; but she saw nothing of those for whom 
she was looking. 

The Princess and the Absolute Fool journeyed on 
until near the close of the afternoon, when the sky 
began to be overcast, and it looked like rain. They 
were then not far from a large piece of water ; and 
at a little distance, they saw a ship moored near the 

"I shall seek shelter on board that ship," said 
the Princess. 

" It is going to storm," remarked the Absolute 
Fool. " I should prefer to be on dry land." 

" As the land is not likely to be very dry when 
it rains," said the Princess, "I prefer a shelter, 
even if it is upon wet water." 

"Women will always have their own way," 
muttered the Absolute Fool. 

The ship belonged to a crew of Amazon sailors, 
who gave the Princess a hearty welcome. 

"You may go on board if you choose," said 
the Absolute Fool to the Princess, " but I shall not 
risk my life in a ship manned by women." 

" You are quite right," said the Captain of the 
Amazons, who had heard this remark; " for you 
would not be allowed to come on board if you 
wanted to. But we will give you a tent to protect 
you and the horse in case it should rain, and will 
send you something to eat." 

While the Princess was taking tea with the 
Amazon Captain, she told her about the Prince, 
and how she was trying to find him. 

"Good!" cried the Captain. "I will join in 
the search, and take you in my ship. Some of my 
crew told me that yesterday they saw a young man, 
who looked like a prince, riding along the shore 
of the lake which adjoins the one we are on. In 




the morning we will sail after him. We shall keep 
near the shore, and your servant can mount your 
horse and ride along the edge of the lake. From 
what I know of the speed of this vessel, I think he 
can easily keep up with us." 

Early in the morning, the Amazon Captain called 
her crew together. " Hurrah, my brave girls ! " she 
said. ''We have an object. 1 never sail without 
an object, and it delights me to get one. The 
purpose of our present cruise is to find the Prince 
of whom this Princess is in search ; and we must 
spare no pains to bring him to her, dead or alive." 

Luckily for her peace of mind, the Princess did 
not hear this speech. The day was a fine one, and 
before long the sun became very hot. The ship 
was sailing quite near the land, when the Absolute 
Fool rode down to the water's edge, and called 
out that he had something very important to com- 
municate to the Princess. As he was not allowed 
to come on board, she was obliged to go on shore, 
to which she was rowed in a small boat. 

" I have been thinking," said the Absolute Fool, 
"that it is perfectly ridiculous, and very uncom- 
fortable, to continue this search any longer. I 
would go back, but my master would not suffer me 
to return without knowing where you are going. 
I have, therefore, a plan to propose. Give up your 
useless search for this Prince, who is probably not 
nearly so handsome and intellectual as I am, and 
marry me. We will then return, and I will assume 
the reins of government in your domain." 

" Follow the vessel," said the Princess, " as you 
have been doing ; for I wish some one to take care 
of my horse." And without another word, she 
returned to the ship. 

" I should like to sail as far as possible from 
shore the rest of the trip," said she to the Captain. 

" Put the helm bias ! " shouted the Amazon 
Captain to the steers-woman ; " and keep him well 
out from land." 

When they had sailed through a small stream 
into the lake adjoining, the look-out, who was 
swinging in a hammock hung between the tops 
of the two masts, sang out, "Prince ahead!" 
Instantly all was activity on board the vessel. 
Story books were tucked under coils of rope, hem- 
stitching and embroidery were laid aside, and 
every woman was at her post. 

"The Princess is taking a nap," said the Cap- 
tain, "and we will not awaken her. It will be so 
Tiice to surprise her by bringing the Prince to her. 
We will run our vessel ashore, and then steal 
quietly upon him. But do not let him get away. 
Cut him down, if he resists ! " 

The Prince, who was plainly visible only a short 
distance ahead, was so pleasantly emploved that 
he had not noticed the approach of the ship. He 

was sitting upon a low, moss-covered rock, close 
to the water's edge ; and with a small hand net, 
which he had found on the shore, he was scooping 
the most beautiful fishes from the lake, holding 
them up in the sunlight to admire their brilliant 
colors and graceful forms, and then returning them 
uninjured to the water. The Water Sprite was 
swimming near him, and calling to the fish to come 
up and be caught ; for the gentle Prince would not 
hurt them. It was very delightful and rare sport, 
and it is not surprising that it entirely engrossed 
the attention of the Prince. The Amazons silently 
landed, and softly stole along the shore, a little 
back from the water. Then, at their Captain's 
command, they rushed upon the Prince. 

It was just about this time that the Gorgoness, 
who had been searching for the Prince, caught her 
first sight of him. Perceiving, before he knew it 
himself, that he was about to be attacked, she 
rushed to his aid. The Amazon sailors reached 
him before she did, and seizing upon him they 
began to pull him away. The Prince resisted 
stoutly; but perceiving that his assailants were 
women, he would not draw his sword. The 
Amazon Captain and mate, who were armed with 
broad knives, now raised their weapons, and called 
upon the Prince to surrender or die. But at this 
moment, the Gorgoness reached the spot, and 
catching the Captain and mate, each by an arm, 
she dragged them back from the Prince. The 
other Amazons, however, continued the combat ; 
and the Prince defended himself by pushing them 
into the shallow water, where the Water Sprite 
nearly stifled them by throwing over them showers 
of spray. And now came riding up the Absolute 
Fool. Seeing a youth engaged in combat with 
the Amazon sailors, his blood boiled with indig- 

"A man fighting women!" he exclaimed. 
"What a coward! My arm shall ever assist the 
weaker sex." 

Jumping from the horse, he drew his sword, and 
rushed upon the Prince. The Gorgoness saw the 
danger of the latter, and she would have thrown 
herself between him and his new assailant, but 
she was afraid to loosen her hold of the Amazon 
Captain and mate. But a thought struck her just 
in time, and in a loud voice she called out : 

" Caterpillar ! " 

"Where?" exclaimed the Absolute Fool, stop- 
ping short. 

" On your neck," cried the Gorgoness. 

With a look of horror on his features, the Abso- 
lute Fool dropped his sword and began to look 
for the caterpillar. The Prince had perceived the 
approach of the Absolute Fool; and now, having 
freed himself from the Amazons, he drew his sword, 




feeling glad to have a man to fight ; for although 
of so gentle a disposition, he was a brave fellow. 
But when he saw that the other had dropped 
his weapon, he would not wound him with his 
sword, but contented himself with pommeling him 
with the flat of the blade. 


cried the Prince. 



enough to be attacked by a crowd of women, but 
1 will not allow myself to be assaulted without 
reason by a man." 

"Stop that! Stop that!" cried the Absolute 
Fool, as he retreated before the Prince. " Wait 
till I find this caterpillar, and then I will show you 
what I can do." 

By this time the two had nearly reached the 
place where the ship was moored, and the Princess, 
who had been awakened by the noise of the com- 
bat, appeared upon the deck of the vessel. The 
moment she saw the Prince, she felt convinced . 
that he was certainly the one for whom she was 
looking. Fearing that the Absolute Fool, whom 
she knew to be very strong and active, might turn 
upon him and kill him, she sprang from the ves- 
sel to his assistance ; but her foot caught in a 
rope, and, instead of reaching the shore, she 
fell into the water, which was here quite deep, 
and immediately sank out of sight. The Prince, 
who had noticed her just as she sprang, and who 
felt equally convinced that she was the one for 
whom he was searching, dropped his sword and 
rushed to the edge of the bank. Just as the 
Princess rose to the surface, he reached out his 
hand to her, and she took it. 

" Philopena ! " cried the Prince. 

" You have won," said the Princess, gayly shak- 
ing the water from her curls, as he drew her 

Within an hour, the Prince and Princess, after 
taking kind leave of the Gorgoness, and Water 
Sprite, and of the Amazon sailors, who cheered 
them loudly, rode away to the city of the Prin- 
cess; while the three servants of the Inquisitive 
Dwarf returned to their master to report what had 

The Absolute Fool was in a very bad humor: 
for he was obliged to return on foot, having left 
his horse in the kingdom where he had so nar- 
rowly escaped being killed : and, besides this, he 
had had his hair pulled, and had been beaten, 
and the Princess had not_ treated him with proper 
respect. He felt himself deeply injured. When 
he reached home, he determined that he would 

not remain in a position where his great abilities 
were so little appreciated. " I will do something," 
he said, "which shall prove to the world that I 
deserve to stand among the truly great. I will 
reform my fellow beings, and I will begin by re- 
forming the Inquisitive Dwarf." Thereupon he 
went to his master, and said : 

" Sir, it is foolish and absurd for you to be med- 
dling thus with the affairs of your neighbors. 
Give up your inquisitive habits, and learn some 
useful business. While you are doing this, I will 
consent to manage your affairs." 

The Inquisitive Dwarf turned to him, and said : 
" I have a great desire to know the exact appear- 
ance of the North Pole. Go and discover it for 

The Absolute Fool departed on this mission, 
and has not yet returned. 

When the Princess, with her Prince, reached 
her city, her uncles were very much amazed ; for 
they had not known she had gone away. "If you 
are going to get married," they said, " we are 
very glad ; for then you will not need our care, 
and we shall be free from the great responsibility 
which is bearing us down." 

In a short time the wedding took place, and 
then the question arose in which city should the 
young couple dwell. The Princess decided it. 

" In the winter," she said to the Prince, "we 
will live in your city, where all is life and activity ; 
and where the houses are so well built with all the 
latest improvements. In the summer, we will come 
to my city, where everything is old, and shady, 
and serene." This they did, and were very happy. 

The Gorgoness would have been glad to go and 
live with the Princess, for she had taken a great 
fancv to her ; but she did not think it worth her 
while to ask permission to do this. 

"My impulses, I know, are good," she said; 
" but my appearance is against me." 

As for the Water Sprite, she was in a truly dis- 
consolate mood, because she had left so soon the 
Land of the Lovely Lakes, where she had been so 
happy. The more she thought about it, the more 
she grieved ; and one morning, unable to bear 
her sorrow longer, she sprang into the great jet of 
the fountain. High into the bright air the fount- 
ain threw her. scattering her into a thousand drops 
of glittering water ; but not one drop fell back 
into the basin. The great, warm sun drew them 
up : and, in a little white cloud, they floated away 
across the bright blue skv. 

i88 4 .] 





By Helen Gray Cone. 

Rosy snow on the roofs in the morning; 

Drifts in the hollows, by wild winds curled ; 
Bells on the beaten road chime away cheeringly- 

O the great white world ! 
Brown little sparrows on twigs bare and red. 
You shall have crumbs both of cake and of bread - 
1 will remember you, flitting unfearingly 

Out in the great white world ! 

Rosy snow on the orchard this morning ! 

Faint-flushed blossoms with crisp edges curled : 
Soft-floating petals by blithe breezes flung to me — 

the sweet white world ! 
Young whistling robin with round ruddy breast, 
I '11 never touch your blue eggs in the nest ; 
I will remember the welcome you Ye sung to me 

Out in the sweet white world ! 





yl 7«& of Adventure in Tierra del Fuego. 

By Captain Mayne Reid. 

Chapter XX. 


THE renewal of acquaintance, under circum- 
stances so extraordinary as those detailed in the 
previous chapter, calls for explanation ; for although 
the incident may appear strange, and even improb- 
able, it is, nevertheless, quite reasonable. How it 
came about will be learned from the following re- 
lation of facts : 

In the year 1838, the English Admiral Fitzroy, 
— then Captain Fitzroy, — while in command of 
H. M. S. "Beagle," engaged in the survey of 
Tierra del Fuego, had one of his boats stolen by 
the natives of Christmas Sound. Pursuing the 
thieves, he made capture of a number of their rel- 
atives, but unfortunately not of the actual culprits. 
For a time he held the captives as hostages, hoping 
by that means to effect the return of the boat. 
Disappointed in this, however, he at length re- 
leased them all, except three, who voluntarily re- 
mained on board the " Beagle." 

These were two young men and a little girl ; 
and all of them were soon after baptized by the 
sailors. One of the men had the name " Boat 
Memory " bestowed upon him, because he had 
been taken at the place where the boat was stolen. 

The other was christened " York Minster," after a 
remarkable mountain, bearing a fancied resem- 
blance to the famed cathedral of York, near which 
he was captured. " Fuegia Basket," as the girl 
was called, was named from the wicker-work 
craft that the crew of the stolen boat had im- 
provised to carry them back to their ship. 

Later on, the commander of the "Beagle," 
while exploring the channel which now bears his 
ship's name, picked up another native of a different 
tribe. This was a young boy, who was bought of 
his own uncle for a button — his unnatural relative 
freely parting with him at the price ! The trans- 
action suggested the name given him, "Jemmy 

Returning soon after to England, Fitzroy, with 
truly philanthropic motives, took the fourFuegians 
along with him. His intentions were to have them 
educated and Christianized, and then restored to 
their native country, in hopes that they might do 
something toward civilizing it. In pursuance of 
this plan, three of the Fuegians were put to 
school; the fourth, "Boat Memory," having died 
soon after landing at Plymouth. 

When Captain Fitzroy thought their training 
sufficiently advanced for his purpose, this humane 
officer, at his own expense, chartered a vessel to 
convev them back to Tierra del Fuego, intending 



to accompany them himself; and he did this, al- 
though a poor man, and no longer commanding a 
ship in commission; the "Beagle," meanwhile, 
having been dismantled and laid up. 

By good fortune, however, Captain Fitzroy was 
spared this part of the expense. The survey of 
Tierra del Fuego and adjacent coasts had not been 
completed, and another expedition was sent out 
by the British Admiralty, and the command of it 
entrusted to him. So, proceeding thither in his 
old ship, the " Beagle," once more in commission, 
he carried his Fuegian proteges along. 

There went with him, also, a man then little 
known, but now of world-wide and universal 
fame, a young naturalist named Darwin — Charles 
Darwin — he who for the last quarter of a century, 
and till his death, has held highest rank among 
men of science, and has truly deserved the dis- 

"York Minster," "Jemmy Button," and " Fue- 
gia Basket " (in their own country called respectively 
Eleparu, Orundelico, and Ocushlu) were the three 
odd-looking individuals that Ned and Henry had 
rescued from the wharf-rats of Portsmouth, as de- 
scribed at the beginning of our story; while the 
officer who appeared on the scene was Fitzroy 
himself, then on the way to Plymouth, where the 
"Beagle," fitted out and ready to put to sea, was 
awaiting him. 

In due time, arriving in Tierra del Fuego, the 
three natives were left there, with every provision 
made for tfieir future subsistence. They had all 
the means and appliances to assist them in carry- 
out Captain Fitzroy's humane scheme ; carpen- 
tering tools, agricultural implements, and a supply 
of seeds, with which to make a beginning.* 

Since then nearly four years have elapsed, and 
lo ! — the result. Perhaps never were good inten- 
tions more thoroughly brought to naught, nor 
clearer proofs given of their frustration, than these 
that Henry Chester and Ned Gancy have now be- 
fore their eyes. Though unacquainted with most of 
the above details, they see a man, but half-clothed, 
his hair in matted tangle, his skin besmeared with 
dirt and blubber; in everything and to all appear- 
ances as rude a savage as any Fuegian around 
him, who is yet the same man they had once seen 
wearing the garb and having the manners of civili- 
zation ! They see a girl, too, — now woman-grown, 
— in whom the change, though less extreme, is 
still strikingly, sadly for the worse. In both, the 
transformation is so complete, so retrograde, so 
contrary to all experience, that they can scarcely 

realize it. It is difficult to believe that any nature, 
however savage, after such pains has been taken 
to civilize it, could so return to itself! It seems a 
very perversity of backsliding ! 

But this is not a time for the two young men 
to inquire into the causes of the change, nor might 
that be a pleasant subject to those who have thus 
relapsed ; so Ned and Henry refrain from appear- 
ing even to notice it. They are too overjoyed in 
knowing that they and their companions are no 
longer in danger to care greatly for anything else. 

Of their safety they have full and instant assur- 
ance, by the behavior of Eleparu, who has taken 
in the situation at a glance. Apparently head of 
the community, with a shout and authoritative 
wave of the hand he sends off those who so lately 
had threatened to attack them. But all seem 
friendly enough, now that they see him so; and 
having, indeed, no reason to be otherwise. Hunger, 
chiefly, had made them hostile ; and now they 
need not be hungry for a long time. 

Accordingly, they at once set about appeasing 
their appetites with the grand store, which must 
provide them for days and even weeks. On this 
account, no indiscriminate grabbing is allowed ; 
but Annaqua, with another of the old men, pro- 
ceeds to serve out the blubber in equal rations, — 
first cutting it into strips, like strings of sausages ; 
then measuring off different-sized pieces, according 
to the ages of the recipients. 

Strange to say, notwithstanding the keen hunger 
of those seeking relief, not one of them touches a 
morsel till the partition is complete and each has 
his share. Then, as at a given signal, they fall 
to, after holding the blubber a second or two near 
the blaze of the fire. 

During these unpleasant proceedings, mutual ex- 
planations are exchanged between Eleparu and 
the two young men of his former brief but memo- 
rable acquaintance. He first inquires how they 
come to be there ; then tells his own story, or such 
part of it as he desires them to know. They learn 
from him that Ocushlu is now his wife ; but when 
questioned about the boy, and what has become 
of him, he shows reserve, answering : 

"Oh, 'Jemmy Button' — he not of our people; 
he Tekenika. English officer brought Jemmy 
back, too — left him at Woolya — that his own 
country — lie out that way ; " and he points east- 
ward along the arm. 

Observing Eleparu's reticence whenever Orun- 
delico (or "Jemmy Button") is mentioned, the 
questioners soon forbear asking further concerning 

* A young missionary named Mathews, who had volunteered, was taken out and left with them. But Captain Fitzroy, revisiting Woolya 
— the intended mission station — a few days after, found Mathews threatened with death at the hands of those he had hoped to benefit. 
During the interval, the savages had kept the poor fellow in constant fear for his life, even "'Jemmy Button " and " York " having been 
unable to protect him. Captain Fitzroy took him away, and he afterward engaged in missionary work among the Maories of New Zealand. 




him, and other matters of more importance claim 
their attention. 

Meanwhile, Ocushlu is engaged in conversation 
with Mrs. Gancy and Leoline. She is about the 
same age as the latter ; but in other respects how 
different they are, and what a contrast they form ! 
The poor Fuegian herself seems to realize it, and 
with sadness of heart. Who could interpret her 
thoughts when, after gazing at the beautiful white 
girl, clean-faced and becomingly attired, her glance 
is turned to her own unsightly self? Perhaps 
she may be thinking of the time when, a school- 
girl at Walthamstow, she, too, wore a pretty dress ; 
and perchance she bitterly regrets having re- 
turned to her native land and barbarism ! Cer- 
tainly, the expression on her countenance seems 
a commingling of sadness and shame. 

But whatever, at the moment, maybe her reflec- 
tions or feelings, ingratitude is not among them. 
Having learned that Leoline is the sister of one of 
the youths who so gallantly espoused the cause of 
her companions and herself in a far-off foreign 
land, she hastens to one of the boats, and, return- 
ing, hands to the white girl a string of the much- 
prized violet shells. 

" For what your brudder did at Portsmout." 

The graceful act is reciprocated, and with inter- 
est, both mother and daughter presenting her with 
such articles of apparel as they can spare, among 
them the scarf they so nearly had to part with in 
a less satisfactory way. 

Equally grateful proves Eleparu. Seeing the 
unfinished boat, and comprehending the design, 
he lends himself earnestly to assist in its com- 
pletion, and no slight helper does he prove ; as, 
during the many months passed on board the 
"Beagle," he had picked up some knowledge of 
ship-carpentry. So the task of boat-building is 
resumed, this time to be carried on to final suc- 
cess. And with such expedition does it progress, 
that in less than a week thereafter, the craft is 
ready for launching ; and on the next day it is 
run off into the shallow water, a score of the Fue- 
gian men lending helping hands. 

On the following morning, with the party of 
castaways and all their belongings on board, it is 
shoved off the shoal, and moves away amidst a 
pa;an of friendly shouts from the savages. Ele- 
paru, like a toast-master, leads the chorus ; and 
Ocushlu waves the red scarf high over her head. 

Chapter XXI. 

" BOAT AHOY ! " 

The new boat behaves handsomely, even ex- 
celling in speed the lost gig, the oars and sailing- 

gear of which, luckily saved, have fitted it out 
completely. Under canvas, with a fair wind, it 
easily makes ten knots an hour : and, as the wind 
lasts for the remainder of the day, Captain Gancy 
and his little party are carried into the Beagle 
Channel without need of touching an oar. 

At sunset, they are opposite Devil Island, at the 
junction of the south-west and north-west arms of 
the channel ; and as the night threatens to be 
dark, with a fog already over the water, they deem 
it prudent to put in to the isle, despite its uncanny 

Landing, they are surprised to see a square- 
built hut of large size, quite different from any- 
thing of Fuegian construction, and evidently the 
work of white men. 

" I reck'n the crew o' some sealin' vessel hev put 
it up," says Seagriff, adding, however: "Yet I 
can't understan' why they should 'a' stopped hyar, 
still less built a shanty, seein' it 's notmuchof aplace 
for seal. I guess the)' must hev got wrecked some- 
whar near, an'- were castaways, like ourselves." 

About the builders of the hut, he has surmised 
wrongly. They were not sealers, nor had they 
been wrecked ; but were a boat's party of real 
sailors — man-of-war's men from the very ship 
which gave the channel its name, and at the date 
of its discovery. 

The island did not deserve the harsh name 
bestowed upon it, and which originated from the 
incident of a screech-owl having perched above 
the head of one of the "Beagle's" sailors who 
slept under a tree outside the hut, and having so 
frightened the superstitious tar with its lugubrious 
" whoo-woo-woah ! " that he believed himself 
hailed by one of the evil spirits which the 
savages believe to inhabit the solitudes of weird 

" Well," says Captain Gancy, after an inspection 
of the untenanted building, " it '11 serve us a/turn, 
whoever may have built it. The roof appears 
to be all tight and sound, so we need n't be 
at the bother of turning the boat-sail into a tent 
this time." 

A fire is kindled inside the hut, and all gather 
around it, the night being chilly cold. Nor are 
they afraid of the blaze betraying them here, as 
the fog will prevent its being seen from any dis- 
tance. Besides, they are in every way more con- 
fident than hitherto. They have passed beyond 
the country of the Ailikolips with their lives miracu- 
lously preserved ; and everything now looks well 
for getting to Good Success Bay — the haven of 
safety they are seeking. From Devil Island it is 
not over two hundred miles distant ; and, with 
winds and tides favoring, they should reach it in 
three days, or less. 



Still, there is cause for anxiety and apprehen- 
sion, as the old sealer, Seagriff, is well aware. 

"We 're not out o 1 the woods yet," he says, 
employing a familiar backwoods expression often 
heard by him in boyhood, adding, in like figura- 
tive phrase, " we still hev to run the gauntlit o' the 
Tekeneekers. " 

"But surely we have nothing to fear from 
them?" exclaims Ned Gancy ; and Henry Chester 
adds, with a questioning look : 

" No, surely not." 

'• Why hev n't we ? " demands Seagriff. 

" Because," answers Chester, " they are Jemmy 
Button's people; and I 'd be loath to believe him 
ungrateful, after our experience with his old com- 
panions, and from what I remember of him. What 
do you think, Ned ? " 

" I agree with you entirely," replied the younger 

"Well, young masters, that may all be so, an' 
I 'd be only too pleased to hope it '11 turn out so. 
But agenst it, thar 's a contrary sarcumstance, in 
there bein' two sorts o' Tekeneekers ; one harmless 
and rather friendly disposed toward white people, 
an' th' other bein' just the revarse, — 'most as bad as 
the Ailikoleeps. The bad uns are called Yapoos, 
an' hev thar ground east'ard along the channel 
beyond, whar a passage leads out, known as the 
Murray Narrer. Therfur, it '11 all depend on which 
o' the two lots Mister Button belongs to." 

" If he is not of the Yapoos, what then ?" ques- 
tions the skipper. 

"Well, knowin' that, an' we '11 know it afore 
comin' to the Yapoo country, it bein' beyond the 
other, then our best way '11 be to make southard 
through the Murray Narrer. That 'd take us out 
to the open sea agen, with a big 'round-about o' 
coastin' ; still, in the end, it might be the safer way. 
Along the outside shore, there 's not so much likeli- 
hood o' meetin' Feweegins of any kind ; and ef we 
did meet 'em, 't would be easier gettin' out o' their 
way, so long ez we 're in a boat sech ez we hev 

The last observation contains a touch of profes- 
sional pride; the old ship's carpenter having, of 
course, been chief constructor of the craft that is 
so admirably answering all their needs. 

" Well, then," says the Captain, after reflection, 
"I suppose we '11 have to be guided by circum- 
stances. And from what has passed, we ought to 
feel confident that they '11 still turn up in our 

This remark, showing his continued trust in the 
shielding power of an Omnipotent Hand, closes the 
conversation ; and all soon after retire to rest, with 
a feeling of security that has been long denied 
them until now. For, although lately under the 

protection of Eleparu, they had never felt full con- 
fidence ; doubting, not his fidelity, but his power 
to protect them. For the authority of a Fuegian 
chief — if such there be — is slight at the best, and 
is made naught of on many occasions. Besides, 
they could not forget that one fearful moment of 
horror, to be remembered throughout life, when 
the savages had almost begun their attack upon 

Having passed the night in peaceful slumber, 
they take their places in the boat as soon as there is 
light enough to steer by. There is still a fog, though 
not so dense as to deter them from reembarking, 
while, as on the day before, the wind is with 
them. With sail filled by the swelling breeze, they 
make rapid way, and by noon are far along the 
Beagle Channel, approaching the place where the 
Murray Narrow leads out of it, trending southward. 
But now they see what may prove an interruption 
to their onward course. Through the fog, which 
has become much less dense, a number of dark 
objects are visible, mottling the surface of the 
water. That they are canoes can be told by the 
columns of smoke rising over each, as though 
they were steam-launches. They are not moving, 
however, and are either lying to or riding at 
anchor. None are empty ; each has a full crew. 

As the canoes are out in the middle of the 
channel, and right ahead, to pass them unobserved 
is impossible. There is no help for it but to risk 
an encounter, whatever may result ; so the boat 
is kept on its course, with canvas full spread, to 
take the chances. 

While yet afar off, Captain Gancy, through his 
glass, is able to announce certain facts, which favor 
confidence. The people in the canoes are of both 
sexes, and engaged in a peaceful occupation, — they 
are fishing. 

But the time for observation is brief. The boat, 
forging rapidly onward, is soon sighted by the 
canoemen, who, starting to their feet, commence 
a chorus of shouts, which come pealing over the 
water, making echoes along both shores. And 
something is seen now which gives the boat's 
people a thrill of fear. Above one of the canoes 
suddenly appears a white disc, seemingly a small 
flag, — not stationary, but waved and brandished 
above the head of the man who has hoisted it. 

At sight of the dreaded color, white, — the 
Fuegian symbol of war, — well may the boat- 
voyagers feel anxious ; for, from their former ex- 
perience, they are confident that this display must 
be intended as a warlike challenge. 

But to their instant relief, they soon learn that it 
is meant as a signal of peace, as words of friendly 
salutation reach their ears. The man who is 
waving the signal shouts : 




"Boat ahoy! Down your sail — bring to! 
Me 'Jemmy Button.' We Tekeneekas — friends 
white people — brothers ! " 

Hailed in such fashion, their delight far exceeds 
their surprise, for ' Jemmy Button ' it surely is ; 
Henry Chester and Ned Gancy both recognize 
him. It is on his side that amazement is greatest 
when he recognizes them, which he does when his 
native name, Orundelico, is called out to him. 

He waits not for the boat to come up, but, 
plunging into the water, swims to meet it. Then 
clambering over the rail, he flings his arms wide 
open, — to close, first around the young English- 
man, and then around the young American, in a 
friendly hug. 

Chapter XXII. 


Once more are the castaways in a land-locked 
cove begirt by high, wooded hills, with their boat 
moored at its inner end, as before. It is a larger 
embayment than that where the gig came to grief, 
though not much wider at the mouth. And there 
is little resemblance between the two landing- 
places, since, at the present one, the boat is not 
the only craft. Ten or more of Fuegian canoes lie 
alongside her ; while on a broad, grassy flat, 
above water-mark, stands a like number of wig- 
wams, their smoke-blackened thatches in strong 
contrast with the white, weather-bleached boat- 
sail, which is again serving as a tent. The wig- 
wams are of Tekenika construction, differing, as 
already said, from those of the Ailikolips, in being 
acutely cone-shaped, and in having their floors 
sunk several feet below the surface of the ground. 
Their ribs, moreover, are stout tree-trunks, instead 
of slender saplings, while the thatches are partly 
of rushes and partly of broad strips of bark. 

Such are the dwellings of Orundelico's people ; 
though only for a part of the year, while they 
engage in a certain fishery of periodical occurrence. 
On an island, down the Murray Narrow, they have 
a larger " wigwamery " of more permanent resi- 
dences ; and there the very old and young of the 
community now are ; only the able-bodied being at 
the fishing station. 

When they were with the Ailikolips, the casta- 
ways believed themselves among the lowest and 
most degraded beings in the human scale. But 
they have now changed their minds, a short 
acquaintance with the Tekenikas having revealed 
to them a type of man still lower, and a state of 

existence yet more wretched, if that be possible. 
Indeed, nothing can come much nearer to the 
" missing link " than the natives of central Tierra 
del Fuego. Though of less malevolent disposition 
than those who inhabit the outside coasts, they 
are also less intelligent and less courageous, while 
equally the victims of abject misery. 

Alas ! " Jemmy Button " is no longer "Jemmy 
Button," but again the savage Orundelico; he, 
too, having gone back to barbarism ! His scanty 
dress, his long, unkempt hair, and the wild ani- 
mal-like expression of his features — all attest 
his relapse into a condition of savagery, total 
and complete. Not a vestige of civilized man re- 
mains with him to show that he has ever been a 
mile from the Murray Narrow. 

But stay ! I am wronging him — twice wronging 
him. He has not entirely forgotten the foreign 
tongue taught him on board the "Beagle" and 
during a year's residence in England ; while some- 
thing he remembers also — something better — the 
kindness there shown him and the gratitude owing 
for it. 

He is paying the debt of honor as best he can, 
and on this account Captain Gancy has consented 
to make a brief stop at the fishing station. There 
are also two other distinct reasons for his doing so. 
Before proceeding further, he wishes to obtain 
more information about the Yapoos ; and he needs 
a fresh supply of provisions — that furnished by 
Eleparu having been neither abundant nor pala- 

Orundelico can do better for them, even to 
providing fresh meat, a thing they have not 
tasted for a long time. They are now in a re- 
gion where roams the guanaco ;* and the Tek- 
enikas are hunters as well as fishermen. A party 
has been sent inland to procure one or more of 
these animals, and the boat-voyagers are await- 
ing its return before continuing their interrupted 

Meanwhile, the hospitality shown them by "Jem- 
my Button " is as generous as his limited means 
wiil allow. To make their time pass agreeably, he 
entertains them with accounts of many odd man- 
ners and customs, and also of such strange phe- 
nomena of nature as are peculiar to his country. 
The Tekenikas, he assures them, are a peaceful 
people, never going to war when they can avoid it. 
Sometimes, however, they are forced into it by 
certain neighboring tribes that make maraud upon 
them. The Ailikolips are enemies of theirs ; but a 
wide belt of neutral territory between the two pre- 
vents frequent encounters. They more often have 

* The guanaco, by some supposed to be the llama in its wild state, is found on the eastern side of Tierra del Fuego. Its range extends 
to the furthest southern point by the Straits of Le Maire ; and, strange to say, it is there of a much larger size than on the plains of 



quarrels with the Yapoos living to the eastward, 
though these are tribally related to them. But 
their most dreaded foes are the Oensmen, whose 
country lies north of the channel, beyond the 
range of high mountains that borders it. The 
Oensmen he describes as giants, armed with a ter- 
rible weapon, " the bolas." * But, being exclusively 
hunters, they have no canoes ; and when on a raid 
to the southern side of the channel, they levy on 
the craft of the Yapoos, forcing the owners to ferry 
them across. 

Orundelico's own people can fight, too, and 
bravely, according to his account ; but only do 
so in defense of their homes and at the last ex- 
tremity. They are not even possessed of warlike 
weapons — neither the deadly club nor the 
fiint-bladed dagger — their spears, bows, 
and slings being used only as implements 
for fishing and the chase. 

Besides the harmaur (guanaco), they 
hunt the hiappo (sea-otter) and the coy- 
pou, or South American beaver, f which is 
also found in Tierra del Fuego. The chase 
of the otter takes place out in the open 
water, where the amphibious animal is 
surrounded by the well-trained dogs, in a 
wide circle ; they then close in upon it, 
diving whenever it goes under, to prevent 
its escape through the enfilading ring. 

Of the Tekenika mode of fishing he 
treats them to an actual exhibition. No 
hooks are used ; the bait, a lump of seal- 
flesh, being simply attached to a hair line. 
The fish, seizing it, is gently drawn to the 
surface, then dextrously caught by the left 
hand and secured, before it can clear its 
teeth from the tough, fibrous bait. The 
rods used in this primitive style of angling 
are of the rudest kind, — mere sticks, no 
longer than the handle of a coach-whip. 

In hunting the harmaur, or, as they also 
call it, luanakayc (evidently a corruption 
of "guanaco"), one of their modes is to 
lie in wait for it on the limb of a tree 
which projects over the path taken by 
these animals, the habit of which is to ' 
follow one another in single file, and along old, fre- 
quented tracks. Above these, among the branches, 
the Tekenika hunter builds a sort of thatched 
staging or nest. Seating himself on this, he awaits 
the coming of the unsuspicious creature ; and, 

when it is underneath, plunges his spear down be- 
tween its ribs ; the blade of the spear being a bone 
taken from some former victim of its own species ! 
Orundelico also shows them the Fuegian mode 
of fire-kindling, the first sparks being obtained 
from the cathow, or fire-stone, % two pieces of which 
every Fuegian carries about him, as an habitual 
smoker does his flint and steel or box of matches. 
The inflammable material used by the natives is 
of three sorts : the soft down of certain birds, a 
moss of fine fiber, and a species of dry fungus 
found attached to the under side of half-rotten 
trees. The catlwws, rasped against each other like 
flints, emit sparks which ignite the tinder, which 
soon bursts into a generous flame. 

(SEE PAGE 538.) 

From Orundelico his guests come to know more 
ot those matters about which his former associate, 
Eleparu, was so reticent, and as they now learn, 
with good reason. 

" 'York' bad fella," he answers, on being ques- 

M*-' e iT my e Bu ' t0n ' S j " 0ensmen " are the Yaccma-cunnces, kindred of the Patagonians, who at some distant time have crossed the 
Magellan btrait and now rove over the large tract to which Narborough gave the name of "King Charles's South Land." They 
"t ?. hun,1 "S tr 'be, the guanaco being the chief object of their pursuit and source of subsistence. 

\ Myojiatamus coypius. It is found in many South American rivers, and, less frequently, in Fuegian waters. In habits and otherwise the 
coypou is much like the beaver, but is a smaller animal and has a rounder tail. 

• X ' S j o d . on seTeral . o! tlle mountainous islands of western Tierra del Fuego, and is much prized by the natives for the purpose 
indicated. _ Being scarce m most places, it is an article of commerce between the tribes, and is eagerly purchased bv the Patagonians, in 
whose territory it 13 not found. 




tioned, "he rob me after Englis' otT'cer leave us 
all at Woolya. Took 'way my coat, tools, every- 
thing. Yes ! ' York ' very bad man ! He no 
Tekenika; him blubber-eating Ailikolip !" 

Strange words from a man who, while giving 
utterance to them, is industriously devouring a 
piece of seal-flesh which is nearly raw. 

Is there a people or nation on earth that does 
not believe itself superior to some other? 

Jemmy further declares that the hostile party 
encountered in Whale Boat Sound must have 
been Ailikolips ; though Eleparu had denied it. 
Still, as there are several communities of Aili- 
kolips, it may have been one with which Eleparu's 
people had no relations. 

With a grateful remembrance of their late host's 
behavior, the castaways are loath to believe all that 
is alleged against him by their present enter- 
tainer ; though they feel some of it must be true, 
or why should Eleparu have been so reticent as 
to Orundelico ? * 

Like " York," Jemmy has married ; and his wife 
is with him at the fishing station. His " help- 
meet" is anything but a beauty, however, being 
as ugly as can well be imagined. But withal, 
she is of a kindly, gentle disposition, quite as 
generous as Ocushlu, and does her best to help 
entertain her husband's guests. 

Notwithstanding all the hospitality extended to 
them, the castaways find the delay irksome, and 
are impatient to be gone. Glad are they when at 
length a shout heard from the hills announces 
the approach of the hunters ; and still more grati- 
fied at seeing them issue from the wood, bearing 
on their backs the four quarters of a guanaco as 
large as a year-old bullock ! 

Chapter XXIII. 


From the information they have gained about 
the Yapoos, which shows them to be ferocious and 
treacherous, and hostile to white men, Captain 
Gancy decides upon running out to seaward 
through the Murray Narrow, — a resolve in har- 
mony with the advice given him by his Fuegian 
host, and by the trusty Seagriff also. The inlet 
in which they are is just outside the entrance to 
the Narrow, on its western side ; and, once around 
a separating tongue of land, they will be in it. As 
if some good fortune seemed to favor their taking 
this route instead of following the Beagle Chan- 

nel, a fine breeze has set in from almost due north ; 
and it is still blowing when the spoil-laden hunters 
return. ■ 

To take advantage of it, immediate departure 
must be made, and is determined upon. Down 
comes the tent, and its component parts are trans- 
ferred to the boat with all their other belongings. 
Enough, also, of the guanaco meat to last them 
for a much longer voyage than they hope theirs 
will be. 

What if they make no voyage at all? What if 
they are not even allowed to embark? 

But why should these questions occur to 
them ? 

Because, just as they all have come down to the 
boat, and are preparing to step into it, something 
is seen on the water outside, near the opposite 
shore of the channel, which painfully suggests 
the questions, — a fleet of canoes, crowded with 
men, and evidently making across for the cove! 

" The Yapoos !" exclaims Orundelico in a voice 
betokening great alarm. 

But not so great as when, the instant after, he 
again cries out : 

" Oh ! Oh ! The Oensmen 'long with them ! " 

Captain Gancy, quickly covering the canoes with 
his glass, makes out, what is yet undistinguishable 
by the naked eye of any other than a Fuegian, that 
there are two sorts of men in them, quite different 
in appearance, unlike in form, facial aspect, dress, 
everything. Above all, are they dissimilar in size, 
some being of gigantic stature ; the others along- 
side of them appearing like pigmies ! The latter 
are seated or bent down working the paddles; 
while the big men stand erect, each with an ample 
robe of skin hanging toga-like from his shoulders, 
cloaking him from neck to ankles. 

It is seen, also, that the canoes are lashed to- 
gether, two and two, like double-keeled catama- 
rans, as though the heavy, stalwart Oensmen did 
not dare to trust themselves to embark in the 
ordinary Fuegian craft. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh!!" repeats Orundelico, shiver- 
ing from crown to toe. "The Oensmen, shoo'! 
This the time of year they come plunder; now 
oosho (red leaf). They rob, kill us all, if we stay 
here. Too late now get pass 'em. They meet 
you out yonner. We mus' run to hills ; hide way 
up in woods ! " 

The course he counsels is already being taken 
by his compatriots ; all of whom, men and women, 
on hearing the word "Oensmen" — the most ter- 
rifying bogey of their babyhood — have made a rush 
to the wigwams and hastily gathered up the most 

* The robbery was actually commitled. After being left at Woolya. " York " and : ' Fuegia " found their way to the country that they 
had been taken from, further west ; but not until they had stripped their former afsociate of most of the chattels that had been given him 
by Captain Fitzroy. 

i88 4 .] 



portable of their household goods. Nor do they 
stay for " Jemmy"; but, all shouting and scream- 
ins;, strike off 

Besides, it 's not likely we could escape t' other way, 
seein' how we 're hampered," says Seagriff, with a 

into the woods, 
'• I emmy's " 
wi fe among 

Left alone 
with the boat's 
people, he re- 
mains by them 
but for a brief 
moment, urg- 
ing them to 

'• Oensmen 
bad — very 
bad," he keeps 
"They worse 
than Ailikolip. 
They kill you 
all. Come ! 
Hide in the 
woods." And 
with these 
words, he is 
off like a shot. 

"What's to 
be done? "asks 
the Captain, 
appealing to 
Seagriff. " If 
we retreat in- 
land, we shall 
lose the boat — 
even if we save 

" Letmehev 
another look 
through yer 
glass, Cap- 

A hasty 
glance enables 
him to make 
a rough esti- 
mate of the 
distance be- 
t w ecu the 
cove's mouth 
and the ap- 
proaching ca- 
noes. "I guess 
we can get out 
o' this corner, 'fore they shut us up in it. Ef we 







can but make 'roun' that p'int eastard, 
Vol. XI.— «. 

'11 be safe. 

side glance toward Mrs. Gancy and Leoline. " On 
land they 'd soon overtake us, hide or no hide, — 




sure to. Thcrefer, our best, our only chance air 
by the water," he affirms. 

Never did crew or passengers get more quickly 
on board a craft, and the instant that everybody 
is in the boat, it is shot out into the water, like an 
arrow from a bow, and brought head around, like 
a teetotum. Then, with the four oars in the 
hands of four men who work them with strength 
and will, it goes gliding, aye, fairly bounding on 
for the outside channel. 

Again it is a pull for their lives, and they know 
it. If they had any doubt of it before, there can be 
none now ; for as they draw near to the entrance 
of the cove, they see the canoes spreading out to 
intercept them. The big, fierce-looking men, too, 
are in a state of wild excitement, evidently pur- 
posing an attack. They cast off their skin wraps 
from their shoulders, displaying" their naked 
bronze bodies and arms, like those of a Colossus. 
Each has in his hand what appears to be a bit of 
cord uniting two balls, about the size of small 
oranges. It is the bolas, an innocent-looking thing, 
but, in reality, a missile weapon as deadly in 
practiced hands as a grenade or bomb-shell. That 
the giant savages intend casting them is clear. 
Their gestures leave no room for doubting it ; they 
are only waiting until the boat is near enough. 

The fugitives are well-nigh despairing, for it is 
almost near enough now. Less than two cables' 
lengths are between it and the foremost of the 
canoes, — each holding a course straight toward 
the other. It seems as though they must meet. 
Forty strokes more, and the boat will be among 
the canoes. Twenty will bring it within reach of 
the bolas. 

And the strokes are given, but no longer to 
propel it in that direction ; for the point of the land 
spit is now abeam, the helm is put hard-a-port, 
bringing the boat's head around with a sharp 
sheer to starboard, and it is clear of the cove ! 

The mast being already stepped, Ned and 
Henry now drop their oars and hasten to hoist 
sail. But ere the yard can be run up to the mast- 
head, there comes a whizzing, booming sound, — 
and it is caught in the bolas ! The mast is struck, 
too, and the balls, whirling around and around, 
lash it and the yard together, with the frumpled 
canvas between, as tight as a spliced spar ! 

And now dismay fills the hearts of the boat's 
people ; all chance of escape seems gone. Two 
of their oars for the time are idle, and the sail, as 
it were, fast-furled. But no ; it is loose again ! 
for quick as a thought, Harry Chester has drawn 
his knife and, springing forward, cut the lapping 
cord with one rapid slash. With equal prompt- 

ness Ned Gancy, having the halyards still in hand, 
hoists away ; the sheet is hauled taut aft, the sail 
instantly fills, and off goes the boat, like an 
impatient steed under loosened rein and deep- 
driven spurs, — off and away in gay, careering 
dance over the water, quickly leaving the foiled, 
furious giants far — hopelessly far — in the wake ! 
* * •* * * * * 

This was the last peril encountered by the cast- 
aways that claims record here. What came after 
were but the ordinary dangers to which an open 
boat is exposed when skirting along a rock-bound, 
storm-beaten coast like that which forms the 
southern and western borders of Tierra del Fuego. 
But they passed unharmed through all, and, three 
days later, reached Good Success Bay. 

There were their hearts made glad by the sight 
of a ship at anchor in shore, Seagriff still further 
rejoicing on recognizing it as a sealing vessel, — 
the very one on which, years before, he had 
cruised while chasing the fur-coated amphibia 
through the waters of Fireland. 

But another and greater joy is in store for them 
all, as, pulling up nearer, they see a large boat — a 
pinnace — swinging by its painter at the ship's side, 
and, lettered on its stern, the name "Calypso " ! 
Over the ship's rail, too, is seen a row of familiar 
faces — those of their old shipmates, whom they 
feared they might never see again. There are they 
all, — Lyons and nine others, — and all uniting in a 
chorus of joyous salutation. 

Soon hands are being shaken warmly on both 
sides, and mutual accounts rendered of what has 
happened to each party since their forced separa- 
tion. The crew of the pinnace had encountered 
but little incident or accident. They had kept 
to the outside coast and circumnavigated it from 
the Milky Way to the Straits of Le Maire. They 
had fallen in with some natives, but luckily had 
not fallen out with them. 

The gig's people, whose lives had been more than 
once in jeopardy from the inhabitants, might well 
be thankful to Captain Fitzroy, one of whose ob- 
jects in carrying the four Fuegians to England and 
back to their own country is thus told by himself: 

" Perhaps a shipwrecked seaman may hereafter receive help and 
kind treatment from ' Jemmy Button's ' children, prompted, as they 
can hardly fail to be, by the traditions they will have heard of men 
of other lands, and by the idea, however faint, of their doty to God, 
as well as to their neighbors." 

The hopeful prediction has borne good fruit, 
even sooner than Captain Fitzroy looked for. But 
for his humane act, Captain Gancy and all dear to 
him would have doubtless left their bones, tin- 
buried, on some lone spot in the LAND OF FIRE. 




By A. G. Plympton. 

There were two Scotch collies in Cloverbank, 
one belonging to the rich Moreys on the hill, and 
the other the river-end Moreys' Rab. The former 
was a pampered animal, in whom I have no interest 
whatever ; but the latter was a most affectionate, 
faithful creature, and the only companion poor 
little Martha Morey ever had. It was this dog 
that had the misfortune to mistake the tax-collector 
for a tramp. 

Old Sam Morey and little Martha lived alone 
in an unpainted, tumble-down house with old- 
fashioned "lights" over the door and a dove-cote 
under the eaves. The house had a fine view of the 
river which marked the boundary of this end of the 
town, — "the river end," as the Cloverbank people 
called it, and in a tone which betrayed the fact that 
it was by no means the court end of the town. 

The Moreys on the hill did not exchange calls 
with the river-end Moreys, although both were 
descended from a certain sturdy old John Morey, 
who had settled in Cloverbank over a hundred 
years ago. It is doubtful whether the richer and 
luckier of the two families could have told exactly 
what the connection was ; and the daughter of the 
house, little Isabel, never dreamed that the same 
blood flowed in her veins as in the wild little 
creature's who lived at the river end. Martha 
Morey, however, had often listened to the family 
history, and sometimes told Rab — who received 
the intelligence with a sniff of indifference — that 
he was a sixteenth cousin of that other Scotch 
collie that lived in the big house on the hill. 

" Why," said Bill Swift, who, on one occasion, 
overheard this boast, " they are n't any better folks 
than you and your father be." 

"Better folks ! Why, Bill, they are — they are 
the best family in town. They have silver forks, 
Bill. Why, they have a piano ! " 

I forgot Bill Swift, when I said Martha and her 
father lived alone. But then, he went home every 
night to a little shanty of his own, and, besides, 
Bill was just next to nobody. If he had not been, 
he would never have worked for old Sam Morey 
"for his keep." And such "keep!" You can 
imagine what it must have been, with shiftless 
Sam to provide, and poor little Martha as house- 
keeper and cook. 

Poor little Martha, indeed ! What a life the 
child had led before that never-to-be-forgotten day 
when Rab came ! How she had longed for com- 
panionship, even trying to make friends with the 

frogs in the spring. There were long days, often 
with no human face to look upon, except, perhaps, 
the grimy countenance of a tramp, whose rough 
look would cause her heart to beat like a trip- 
hammer. And, worse than all, there were the 
nights when Sam — heaven help him! — did not 
come home at all, and which Martha passed listen- 
ing to the wind whistling in the pine-tops and the 
windows rattling in the casement. 

But enough of these dismal memories ; for the 
day came at last, when her father brought home a 
lovely black-and-white puppy (with a sharp little 
nose and a tail just like a rat's), and said in his 
pleasant way, — for with all his faults old Sam Mo- 
rey always spoke kindly to his little girl, — " Mar- 
thy, here 's a playmate for you." 

Dear old Rab ! A playmate ! Why, he was 
the most loyal, adoring of friends, and a brave pro- 
tector besides. He grew big and handsome every 
day, with a sleek black coat, and a white vest : 
and his tail, which he had so grand a way of 
waving in the air, became unusually bushy and 
majestic. He was an endless diversion to Martha 
with his funny dog-ways — such dancing around 
after his tail, and giving sly licks at her cheek in 
unguarded moments ; even the funny little flap 
of his ears when he ran delighted her, and his 
trick of resting his chin on her lap when she ate, 
and nudging her with it from time to time to 
attract her attention to the fact that he, too, was 
hungry. Martha knew that he longed for the gift 
of speech, if only to tell her how he loved her. 
At least, so his brown eyes seemed to say, as he 
sometimes stood by her side looking patiently, 
wistfully into her face. 

Rab fully realized what an unguarded life his 
little mistress led, and constituted himself her body- 
guard. No grimy tramp set Martha's heart beat- 
ing now, for Rab became a terror even to the 
innocent passer-by. You would have thought, to 
hear him growl, that old Sam Morey's dilapidated 
buildings were store-houses of wealth. 

One day, old Isaac Hunter was driving to the 
village, and his harness broke in front of the 
Morey house. Isaac stopped his horse and de- 
scended slowly from his wagon, when Rab, who 
with ears upright and glaring eyes had been 
watching him from the door-step, dashed down 
the path, barking furiously, and seized the old man 
by the leg. If Martha had not appeared just then 
upon the scene, there is no knowing how the en- 




counter would have ended. As it was, there was 
a hole in Isaac's boot-top. 

" Is that your dog? " asked he of Martha, who 
was holding Rab by the ear. 

" Yes, sir." 

" Had him long? " 

"Two years," answered innocent Martha, with 
a fond pat on Rab's sleek black head. 

" Long enough to have taught him better man- 
ners," said ungracious Isaac, as he gathered his 
reins together and drove off. 

That very evening, as Sam sat, with his pipe, in 
the front yard, a neighbor leaned over the gate 
and thus addressed him : " Hello, Sam, why don't 
you shingle your roof? " 

" Wall," said Sam, taking the pipe from his 
mouth, " there don't seem to be any right time to 
shingle a house. Can't when it rains, you know. 
And when it 's pleasant, there 's no need of it." 

The neighbor laughed, and presently began 
again : "I say, Sam, have you paid your dog-tax 
this year ? " 

" Blest, now, if I have n't forgotten that tax ! " 
said Sam, scratching his head ; but adding, with a 
sudden glance of suspicion, " Why are you so 
free with your questions ?" 

"Well, it is n't exactly from curiosity, Sam. 
You see, old Isaac Hunter passed here to-day, and 
your dog introduced himself to notice. Isaac col- 
lects the dog-tax, you know, and he says there has 
n't any tax been paid on your dog this year; nor 
last year, either, for the matter of that. I thought 
I 'd be neighborly, and let you know that he is 
coming down to-morrow night to collect." 

"You don't mean it?" said Sam. "It '11 be 
uncommon inconvenient. I can't let him have the 
money then." 

"Well, there is no way to avoid the tax, they 
say, but to kill the dog." 

To kill dear old Rab ! Can you understand, 
you children with tender parents, with brothers 
and sisters, with hosts of friends, with never-end- 
ing amusements, — can you understand what the 
words meant to lonely little Martha Morey ? 

"Oh, Father," she cried, "you wouldn't kill 
Rab ! " 

" Marthy," answered Sam, with his eyes on the 
vanishing figure of his neighbor, " I have n't got a 
penny to my name, and that 's the truth." 

She flung her arms around the dog, and buried 
her face in his shaggy coat. Her faithful, only 
friend ; and he loved her so ! 

" I dunno as I could kill him myself," continued 
Sam, looking at the two with a troubled face. 
" Bill Swift will have to do it. Come, Marthy, — 
come little gal, — don't take on so ! " 

The tax was two dollars — such a trirle against 

Rab's life ! Sam went out,— poor, weak, old fel- 
low, — unable to witness Martha's misery. It was 
bright moonlight, and the child wiped her eyes 
bravely, for she remembered to have heard that 
huckleberries were ripe in the lower pasture ; and 
she would work instead of cry. Would her father 
try to raise the money and save Rab ? She seized 
a basket, poor little desperate soul, and calling 
her dog, shut the door of the house. 

It was a long walk to the pasture, but she had 
soon scrambled over the wall and made her way 
to the place where the berries grew. I have never 
picked berries by moonlight, but I can imagine 
what the difficulties may be. Martha trailed 
through the wet bushes and picked with nervous, 
eager fingers, without daring to think how many 
berries it would take to earn two dollars, or 
whether four dollars, even, might not be demanded 
by that hard-hearted collector of taxes. Mean- 
time, Rab kept close to her side, watching pro- 
ceedings with wise eyes, as if he, too, understood 
all about it. By midnight the moon went down, 
and Martha sadly groped her way home. 

There, she lit a lamp and measured the berries. 
Only two quarts ; but in her desperation a thought 
had come to her, and holding fast to the hope it 
held, she at last fell asleep. 

The sun shone in at her eastern window, and 
woke the little sleeper at the usual hour. Martha's 
trouble woke, too, and urged her to hurry about 
her morning work. She made the fire and cooked 
the breakfast. She gave Rab his, too, which he 
ate with his usual appetite, unconscious that his 
life was trembling in the -balance. Ah, poor, 
loving Rab, who licked Sam's hands, and stood 
looking trustfully into his face at the very moment 
when that worthy was telling Bill that he must 
shoot the dog ! 

" This afternoon, sometime, Bill, you must find 
time to do it," Sam said, "for Isaac Hunter is 
coming for the tax in the evening ; and, mind you, 
I don't mean to own any dog then. Come toward 
sunset. Now, Marthy, keep 'round the house with 

" Yes, sir," replied Martha, with her usual 
meekness ; but, for the first time in her life, she 
avoided her father's kiss. 

The berries she had picked, upon inspection by 
daylight, proved very unsalable. They were hardly 
ripe, and the preponderance of green berries was 
perceptible. Nevertheless, Martha got her hat and 
put it on. Looking in the little cracked glass, she 
saw a slender girl with dusky hair, beneath which 
her face seemed unusually small and delicate. Blue 
eyes full of tears, a little mouth set in a sad curve, 
the dress old and faded. Then she kissed dear 
old Rab, shut him in the house in spite of his 



frantic entreaties to go, too, and set out for the desire on your part — perfectly natural," was the 

village. facetious remark of Mr. Towle, when Martha had 

It was to one of the stores of Cloverbank that stammered out her proposition. '■ But you see, from 

Martha was bound, on an errand the very thought my point of view it does n't seem so attractive." 
of which made her cheeks burn. She was going " Indeed," cried poor Martha, "that isn't what 


to do what she had never done before — to beg I said at all. I said I would bring you berries all 

a favor. But it was for Rab's life, and with summer, and I wanted you, as a great favor, to 

this reflection she plucked up courage and went in. pay me beforehand." 

"And so you want me to make you a present " In advance, so to speak. Would they be as 

of two dollars,— eh? Well, that is a very natural clean picked as these. Miss More v.: " asked Mr. 




Towle, sarcastically, with a wave of his hand 
toward the basket. " No, no," said he, changing 
his tone as he saw a customer advancing. "I '11 
pay you for your berries when you bring them." 

Martha turned away. Blinded with tears, she 
ran against a stout woman who was coming in. 

"Well, well, little girl, what 's the trouble? 
Could n't sell your berries ? " questioned she, in a 
kind tone. " Well, just run up to Mrs. Morey's, 
on the hill, you know, and I guess she will buy 
them ; for she asked me if I saw any one with 
berries to send them to her." 

With renewed hope and courage, Martha wiped 
her eyes and started for the hill. Perhaps these 
rich Moreys would hold out a helping hand, for she 
had heard that they did many acts of kindness in the 
village; and then — and Martha's cheeks flushed 
— there was the relationship, too, in her favor. 

She soon came to the broad gate of the rich 
Moreys' house, which stood with its long windows 
and broad piazzas, a very stronghold of ease and 
plenty. On the front piazza sat Isabel Morey and 
three young friends, who, Martha saw at a glance, 
were not Cloverbank girls. 

Poor Martha ! She was too ignorant of the ways 
of the world to go to the back of the house with 
her wares ; instead of doing so, she walked slowly 
up to Isabel, and asked if they would like to buy 

" Huckleberries ! " cried one of the girls, coming 
toward her. " Isabel, your good mother said if she 
could get any, 1 would n't have to go back to the 
South without having tasted a huckleberry pie. 
And she looked into Martha's basket, saying, 
"And so these little green things are the much- 
talked-of huckleberry ? " 

Isabel blushed and laughed. "They are not 
very good specimens, Ruby," and turning to 
Martha, said coldly : " None to-day, thank you." 

Down to zero sank Martha's heart, her courage 
had almost gone ; yet she could not go without 
another effort for Rab. 

"They are not very good, I know," she said, 
eagerly; " I picked them by moonlight, because" 
(with a sob) " I wanted the money so. Unless I 
have it, my dog will be shot just for the money to 
pay the tax. I thought, perhaps, because I am 
a relation, you would let me have it." 

" A relation ! " cried Isabel ; " pooh ! That 's a 
story. We don't want any berries, I tell you, so 
you had better go on to your next relations." 

Little Martha went home desperate. She pre- 
pared the dinner, but she ate none of it herself. 
She took Rab, who was wild with joy at her return 
after so unusual a separation, out of the house, 
away from her father and Bill Swift, and went up 
on the hill. 

It was the same spot where they had frolicked 
together but a few days before, and Martha remem- 
bered how the solemn beauty of the sunset had, at 
last, hushed their wild gambols. She thought 
then, as she stood watching the tender glow of the 
wonderful sky, that life, even to a poor, little bare- 
foot girl like herself, was sweet and good. And 
now — oh, the difference ! It was Rab's last after- 
noon — the last one. He was her only, best friend ; 
and he was going to be shot — shot for no fault of 
his, and by those he loved and trusted. 

"Oh, Rab ! Rab!" cried the poor little girl, 
" how can they do it, when you trust them so ? If 
you only knew, you would run away and find a 
home with somebody else ; but you never could 
trust anybody, never any more. Rab, dear old 
dog, can't you understand ? You have stuck as 
close to us always as if we were rich folks, and 
loved us, and tried to keep harm away ; and now, 
just for two dollars, you are going to be shot ! " 

And Rab, who had never once taken his solemn 
eyes from hers, licked her hand and moved still 
closer by way of answer. 

The afternoon shadows grew longer and longer. 
Rab slept with his head on Martha's lap, and 
Martha, poor child, wept. Once, she woke him up 
with a great hug, crying: " How can I do without 
you ? How can I bear the long evenings, old fel- 
low, all alone again "-. " 

The sun sank lower and lower, and dropped at 
last softly below the horizon. Then the child with 
a frantic kiss on Rab's head, sprang to her feet 
and flew down the hill, past the orchard, past the 
great empty barns, and in at the old kitchen door, 
knowing well that it hit Rab's nose as she shut it, 
and that he stood waiting patiently for it to be 
opened again. She heard Bill Swift's whistle, and 
knew that Rab trotted off obedient to the call. She 
could see how he jumped and wagged Iris tail in 
answer to Bill's voice — Bill, who had just stood and 
grinned, when he had been ordered to shoot him. 
Oh ! that was Bill now, in the hall, for his gun. 
And now, now he was calling Rab down behind 
the stable to be shot — to be shot! "Oh, how 
can he do it ! " cried Martha, muffling her shawl 
around her ears. But she could not shut out the 
sound she dreaded. 

For, at the same moment, a loud bang and a 
girl's shrill cry filled the air; then there was perfect 
stillness, and Martha tried to realize that brave, 
loving Rab was dead. 

Isabel Morey, notwithstanding her treatment of 
Martha, was by no means a hard-hearted girl. 
She had, indeed, a very tender heart, and it was 
tilled with remorse, although Isabel tried her best 
not to think any more about the girl who was try- 



ing to get money to save her dog. You see, she 
was proud ; and what proud girl would wish to 
have Martha Morey claim her for a relation ? But, 
somehow, the troubled blue eyes and quivering 
lip haunted Isabel all day ; and that afternoon 
which Martha and Rab spent on the hill, and on 
which Isabel gave her lawn party, was the most 
uncomfortable one she could remember. 

The girl had been fed on praise and pleasure all 
her life, and that is a diet that will agree with 
nobody's disposition. It was only Isabel's high 
standard of living that prevented her from being 
just as well pleased with herself as the rest of the 
household was with her. She knew those whose 
lives were lovely, and her own seemed very poor 
and ugly, just now, in comparison. So, when fond 
good-night kisses were pressed on her cheek, she 
burst out : 

"Don't kiss me, mother! I'm a proud, bad- 
hearted girl, who never thinks of anybody but her- 
self; and I don't deserve all the love and the 
kisses I get. I 'm an unfeeling savage, mother, 
and I 'm sure I have broken a girl's heart." 

" Broken a girl's heart ! " echoed Mrs. Morey. 
" Dear, dear, and who is the damsel ? " 

"It 's a poor girl that came to sell berries," 
explained Isabel. " She wanted the money to 
save her dog, that was going to be shot to avoid 
the dog-tax. And I would not give her any, 
because she said she was a relation. Yes, that was 
the real reason. Her name happens to be Morey." 

" Well, then, I presume she is a relation. All 
the Moreys in this part of the country are of the 
same stock. Which family is it, Belle ? " 

" The river-end Moreys, mother." 

" A daughter of old Sam, then. Well, dear, 
any child of his has a sad life. Help her, if you 
have a chance." 

" To-morrow, I will go and see Martha, and 
give her the money," said Isabel, who had real 
tears in her eyes ; and after calling herself more 
bad names, she was led off to bed, where, I hope, 
she slept more comfortably than poor Martha, 
who tossed on her little cot and moaned for Rab 
till morning. 

One of the advantages of a story is, that we can 
skip unhappy days which, in real life, we have to 
go through as best we may, finding out, let us 
hope, that pain at least teaches us tenderness and 
sympathy for others. So we need not follow 
Martha through that lonesome, wretched clay. 

It was just twenty-four hours since she had parted 
from Rab ; and Martha sat before the dying coals 

in the fire-place, with her head resting on the old, 
rush-bottom chair. For the first time in her brave, 
young life she had owned to herself her father's 
faults, and the privations and loneliness they 
brought upon her. She made a sad picture of 
desolation, and Isabel Morey, standing in the door- 
way, felt grateful for her own happy life, as she 
realized what Martha's must be. 

" Martha," she cried, " I 've come to bring you 
the money." 

Martha raised herself, and looked with a shiver 
at Rab's empty place. " It 's too late," said she. 

" Oh," cried Isabel, impulsively, " why did you 
let them kill him so soon ? " 

" Ask Bill," said Martha, with a weary sigh. 

But Bill, who had just come in from the stable, 
grinned in his usual simple way, and went out 
again. And Martha dropped her head back in its 
place on the chair. 

Something in the little figure appealed to every 
good impulse of Isabel's heart. 

" Martha," she cried, " we are relations, as you 
said. I did not know it before last night, but now 
I am glad of it ; and I believe you will forgive me, 
and we shall be friends." 

"Oh," said Martha, "even the girls here at 

river end despise me, and you " But the 

words were smothered on Isabel's shoulder ; for the 
two little descendants of old John Morey were 
locked in each other's arms. 

And then the strangest thing happened. In the 
door stood two Scotch collies : one belonged to the 
Moreys on the hill, and the other was 

" Rab ! " screamed Martha. 

" Yaas, it 's Rab," said Bill Swift's voice. " If 
this 'ere young lady wants to pay the dog-tax, 
here 's a chance." 

" And you did n't shoot him, dear, dear Bill ? " 
cried Martha. 

" S'pose I 'd shoot Rab ? Pooh ! I 'm not so silly 
as some folks think me," answered Bill. "No, no ; 
I jest shot at a crow, and I tied Rab up in my old 
shed at home." 

From this time, the two Morey girls and the two 
Scotch collies became the four best friends in 
Cloverbank. Martha overcame her shyness, and 
paid many a delightful visit to the big house on 
the hill, where, in spite of her faded frocks, they 
could no more despise her than a moonbeam or a 
violet — sweet, gentle little Martha. And the rich 
Moreys' love for her became the channel through 
which flowed many of the good and inspiring things 
of this life, which made her own full and happy. 




With a rush and a whir of shining wings, 
They hear and obey — the dainty things ! 
Dun and purple and snowy white, 
Clouded gray, like the soft twilight, 
Straight as an arrow shot from a bow, — 
Wheeling and circling high and low, 

Down they fly from the slanting roof 
Of the old red barn at Mendon. 

' Coo ! coo ! coo ! " says Arne, 
Calling the doves at Mendon ! 



Baby Alice with wide blue eyes 
Watches them ever with new surprise, 
While she and Wag on the mat together 
Joy in the soft midsummer weather. 
Hither and thither she sees them fly, 
Gray and white on the azure sky, 

Light and shadow against the green 
Of the maple grove at Mendon. 

" Coo ! coo ! coo !" says Arne, 
Calling the doves at Mendon ! 


they flutter with timid grace, 
by the voice and the tender face, 
Till the evening air is all astir 
With the happy strife and the eager whir. 
One by one and two by two, 
And then a rush through the ether blue ; 
While Arne scatters the yellow corn 
For the gentle doves at Mendon. 

" Coo ! coo ! coo ! " says Arne, 
Calling the doves at Mendon ! 




They hop on the porch where the baby sits, 
They come and go, as a shadow flits, 
Now here, now there, while in and out 
They crowd and jostle each other about ; 
Till one, grown bolder than all the rest, — 
A snow-white dove with an arching breast, — 
Softly lights on her outstretched hand 
Under the vines at Mendon. 

" Coo ! coo ! coo ! " says Arne, 
Calling the doves at Mendon ! 

A sound, a motion, a flash of wings, — 
They are gone — like a dream of heavenly 

things ! 
The doves have flown and the porch is 

And the shadows gather on vale and hill. 
Then sinks the sun, and the mountain breeze 
Stirs in the tremulous maple trees ; 

While Love and Peace, as the night comes 
down , 

Brood over quiet Mendon ! ^«@ 




By Louisa M. Alcott. 

"That's the sort I like," said Geoff, as the 
story ended; " Onawandah was a trump, and I 'd 
give a good deal to know such a fellow and go 
hunting with him. Got any more like it, Aunty ? " 

" Perhaps; but it is the girls' turn now, and here 
is a quiet little story that teaches the same lesson 
in a different way. It contains a hint which some 
of you would better take," and Aunt Elinor glanced 
around the circle with a smile that set her hearers 
on the alert to see who was to be hit. 

" Hope it isn't very moral," said Geoff, with a 
boyish dislike of being preached at. 

" It wont harm you to listen and take the moral 
to heart, my lad. Wild horses, gold mines, and 
sea scrapes are not the only things worth reading 
about. If you ever do half so much good in the 
world as the people in this story did, I shall be proud 
of you," answered Aunt Elinor, so soberly that 
Geoff folded his hands and tried to look meekly 

'•Is it true?" asked Min. 

"Yes. I heard ' Abby ' tell it herself, and saw 
the silk stocking and the scar." 

" That sounds very interesting. I do like to 
hear about good clothes and awful accidents," 
cried the girl, forgetting to spin in her eagerness 
to listen. 

They all laughed at her odd mixture of tastes, 
and then heard the story of 

Little Things. 

Abigail sat reading " Rasselas " aloud to her 
father while he shaved, pausing now and then to 

explain a word or correct the girl's pronunciation ; 
for this was a lesson as well as a pleasure. The 
handsome man, in his nankin dressing-gown, ruf- 
fled shirt, black small-clothes, and silk stockings, 
stood before the tall, old-fashioned bureau, looking 
often from the reflection of his own ruddy face to 
the pale one beside him, with an expression of ten- 
der pride, which plainly showed how dear his 
young daughter was to him. 

Abby was a slender girl of fifteen, in a short- 
waisted gingham gown, with a muslin tucker, dimity 
apron, and morocco shoes on a pair of small feet 
demurely crossed before her. A blue-eyed, brown- 
haired little creature, with a broad brow, and a 
sweet mouth, evidently both intelligent and affec- 
tionate ; for she heartily enjoyed the story, and 
answered her father's approving glances with a face 
full of the loving reverence so beautiful to see. 

Schools were not abundant in 1S15 ; and, after 
learning to read, spell, sew, and cipher a little, at 
some dame school, girls were left to pick up knowl- 
edge as they could; while the brothers went to 
college or were apprenticed to some trade. But 
the few things they did study were well learned ; 
so that Abby's reading was a pleasure to hear. She 
wrote a fine, clear hand, seldom misspelt a word, 
kept her own little account-book in good order, 
and already made her father's shirts, hemstitching 
the linen cambric ruffles with the daintiest skill, 
and turning out button-holes any one might be 
proud of. These accomplishments did not satisfy 
her, however, and she longed to know much more, 
-•-to do and be something great and good, — with 
the sincere longing of an earnest, thoughtful girl. 




These morning talks with her father were pre- 
cious half-hours to her ; for they not only read 
and discussed well-chosen books, but Abby opened 
her heart freely, and received his wise counsels 
with a grateful docility which helped to make her 
after-life as benevolent and blessed as his. 

" I don't wonder that Rasselas wanted to get out 
of the Happy Valley and see the world for himself. 
I often feel so, and long to go and have advent- 
ures, like the people I read about. To do some- 
thing very splendid, and be brave and -great and 
loved and honored," said Abb}', as she closed the 
book and looked out of the open window with 
wistful eyes ; for the chestnut trees were rustling 
in the May sunshine, and spring was stirring in the 
girl's heart, as well as in the budding boughs and 
early flowers on the green bank below. 

" Do not be in a hurry to leave your Happy 
Valley, my dear ; but help to keep it so by doing 
your part well. The happiness of life depends very 
much on little things ; and one can be brave and 
great and good, while making small sacrifices and 
doing small duties faithfully and cheerfully," an- 
swered Mr. Lyon, with the look of one who prac- 
ticed what he preached. 

"But my little things are so stupid and easy. 
Sewing, and learning to pickle and preserve, and 
going out to tea when I don't want to, and helping 
mother, are none of them romantic or exciting 
duties and sacrifices. If I could take care of poor 
people, or be a colonel in a splendid uniform and 
march with drums and trumpets, or even a fire- 
warden and run to save lives and property, and be 
loved and thanked and trusted, as you are, I should 
be contented," continued Abby, kindling at the 
thought ; for she considered her father the noblest 
of men, and glowed with pride when she saw him 
in his regimentals on great occasions, or when she 
helped him into the leathern cap and coat, and 
gave him the lantern, staff, and canvas bags he 
used, as fire-warden, long before steam-engines, 
hook and ladder companies, and electric alarms 
were dreamed of. 

Mr. Lyon laughed as he washed his face at the 
queer, three-cornered stand, and then sat down to 
have his hair tied in a queue by his daughter, who 
prided herself on doing this as well as a barber. 

" Ah, my girl, it 's not the things that make the 
most noise and show that are the bravest and the 
best; but the everlasting patience, charity, and 
courage needed to bear-our daily trials like good 
Christians." And the smile changed to a sigh, for 
the excellent man knew the value of these virtues 
and their rarity. 

" Yes, I know, sir ; but it is so splendid to be a 
hero, and have the world ring with one's glory, 
like Washington and Lafavette, or Perry, Hull, and 

Lawrence," said Abby, winding the black ribbon so 
energetically that it nearly broke ; for her head was 
full of the brave deeds performed in the wars of 1775 
and 1 8 1 2 — the latter of which she well remembered. 

" Easy, my dear, easy ! — remember that it was 
the faithful doing of small things which fitted 
these men to do the grand deeds well, when the 
time came. Heroes are not made in a minute, 
and we never know what we may be called upon 
to live through. Train yourself now to be skillful, 
prompt, courageous, and kind ; then when the 
duty or the danger comes you will be prepared for 
it. ' Keep your spindle ready and the Lord will 
send the flax,' as the old proverb says." 

"I will, father, and remember the other saying 
that you like and live up to, ' Do right and leave 
the consequences to God,' " answered Abby, with 
her arm about his neck and a soft cheek against 
his, feeling that with such an example before her 
she ought not to fail. 

" That 's my good girl ! Come, now, begin at 
once. Here 's a little thing to do, a very homely 
one, but useful, and some honor may be gained by 
doing it nicely; for, if you '11 darn this bad rent in 
my new stocking, I 'II give you five dollars." 

As he spoke, Mr. Lyon handed her a heavy silk 
stocking with a great "barn-door" tear in the 
calf. He was rather proud of his handsome legs 
and dressed them with care, importing hose of 
unusual fineness for state occasions ; being one of 
the old-time gentlemen whose stately elegance 
added dignity to any scene. 

Abby groaned as she examined the hole torn by 
a nail, for it was a very bad one, and she knew that, 
if not well done, the costly stocking would be ruined. 
She hated to darn, infinitely preferring to read, or 
study Latin with her brother, instead of repairing 
old damask, muslin gowns, and the family hose. 
But she did it well, excelling her elder sister in 
this branch of needle-work ; so she could not refuse, 
though the sacrifice of time and taste would have 
been almost impossible for any one but father. 

" I '11 try, sir, and you shall pay me with a kiss ; 
five dollars is too much for such a thing," she said, 
smiling at him as she put the stocking into the 
capacious pocket where girls kept housewife, 
scissors, thimble, pin-ball, and a bit of lovage or 
flag-root in those days. 

" I 'm not so sure that you '11 find it an easy job, 
but remember Bruce and his spider, and don't be 
conquered by the ' little thing.' Now, I must be off. 
Good-bye, my darling," and Mr. Lyon's dark eyes 
twinkled as he thought of the task he had set her; 
for it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle could 
restore his damaged stocking. 

Abby forgot her heroics and ran to get his hat 
and cane, to receive his morning kiss, and answer 



the salute he always paused at the street corner to 
give her before he went away to the many cares 
and labors of his own busy day. But while she 
put her little room in order, dusted the parlor, 
and clapped laces for her mother, who, like most 
ladies long ago, did up her own caps and turbans, 
Abby was thinking over the late conversation, and 
wondering if strict attention to small affairs would 
really lead to something good or glorious in the end. 

When her other duties were done, she resolutely 
sat down to the detested darn, although it would 
have been much pleasanter to help her sister cut 
out green satin leaves and quill up pink ribbon 
into roses for a garland to festoon the skirt of a 
new white dress. 

Hour after hour she worked, slowly and carefully- 
weaving the torn edges together, stitch by stitch, 
till her eyes ached and the delicate needle grew 
rusty in her warm hand. Her mother begged 
her to stop and rest, sister Catharine called her to 
come and see how well the garland looked, and a 
friend came to take her to drive. But she refused 
to stir, and kept at her weaving, as patiently as 
King Robert's spider, picking out a bit that puck- 
ered, turning the corner with breathless care, and 
rapping it with her thimble on the wooden egg 
till it lay flat. Then she waited till an iron was 
heated, and pressed it nicely, finishing in time to 
put it on her father's bureau, where he would see it 
when he dressed for dinner. 

" Nearly four hours over that dreadful darn ! 
But it 's done now, and hardly shows, so I do think 
I 've earned my money. I shall buy that work- 
box I have wanted so long. The inlaid one, with 
nice velvet beds for the thimble, scissors, and bod- 
kin, and a glass in the cover, and a little drawer 
for my silk-reels. Father will like that, and I 
shall be proud to show it." 

These agreeable thoughts were passing through 
Abby's mind as she went into the front yard for a 
breath of air, after her long task was over. Tulips 
and hyacinths were blooming there, and, peeping 
through the bars of the gate, stood a little girl 
wistfully watching the gay blossoms and enjoying 
their perfume. Now, Abby was fond of her gar- 
den, and had been hurrying the early flowers, that 
they might be ready for her father's birthday nose- 
gay, so her first impulse was to feign that she did 
not see the child, for she did not want to giveaway 
a single tulip. But the morning talk was fresh in 
her memory, and presently she thought : 

"Here is a little thing I can do," and ashamed 
of the selfish impulse, she gathered several of her 
finest flowers and offered them, saying cordially: 

"I think you would like these? Please take 
them, and by and by when there are more, you 
shall have prettier ones. " 

" Oh, thank you ! I did want some for mamma. 
She is ill, and will be so pleased," was the grate- 
ful answer, given with a little curtsey and a smile 
that made the wistful face a very happy one. 

" Do you live near by ?" asked Abby, seeing at 
once from the child's speech and manner that she 
was both well-bred and grateful. 

"Just around the corner. We are English, and 
papa is dead. Mamma kept school in another 
place till she was too ill, and now I take care of 
her and the children as well as I can." 

The little girl of twelve, in her black frock, with 
a face far too old and anxious for her years, was so 
innocently pathetic as she told the sad story, that 
Abby's tender heart was touched, and an impetu- 
ous desire to do something at once made her 
exclaim : 

"Wait a minute, and I '11 send something bet- 
ter than flowers. Would n't your mother like 
some wine jelly ? I helped make it, and have a 
glassful all my own." 

" Indeed she would ! " began the child, blushing 
with pleasure ; for the poor lady needed just such 
delicacies, but thought only of the children's wants. 

Waiting to hear no more, Abb)- ran in to get 
her offering, and came back beaming with benevo- 
lent good-will. 

"As it is not far and you have that big basket, 
I '11 go with you and help carry the things, if I 
may? My mother will let me, and my father will 
come and see you, I 'm sure, if you 'd like to have 
him. He takes care of everybody, and is the best 
and wisest man in all the world." 

Lucy Mayhew accepted these kind offers with 
childish confidence, thinking the young lady a 
sort of angel in a coal-scuttle bonnet, and the two 
went chatting along, good friends at once ; for 
Abby had very engaging manners, and her cheer- 
ful face won its way everywhere. 

She found the English family a very interesting 
one, for the mother was a gentlewoman, and in 
sore straits now; being unable to use her accom- 
plishments any longer, and failing fast, with no 
friends to protect the four little children she must 
soon leave alone in a strange land. 

" If they were only cared for, I could go in peace; 
but it breaks my heart to think of them in an 
asylum, when they need a home," said the poor 
lady. telling her greatest anxiety to this sympa- 
thetic young visitor ; while Lucy regaled the noses 
of the eager little ones with delicious sniffs of the 
pink and blue hyacinths. 

"Tell father all about it, and he'll know just 
what to do. He always does, and everyone goes 
to him. May he come and see you. ma'am?" 
said Abby, longing to take them all home at once. 

" He will be as welcome as an angel from 




Heaven, my child. I am failing very fast, and 
help and comfort are sorely needed," answered 
the grateful woman, with wet eyes and a heart too 
full for many thanks. 

Abby's eyes were full also, and promising to 
"send father soon," she went away, little dream- 
ing that the handful of flowers and a few kind 
words were the first links in a chain of events that 
brought a blessing into her own home. 

She waited anxiously for her father's return, and 
blushed with pleasure as he said, after examining 
her morning's work: 

" Wonderfully well done, my dear ! Your mother 
says she could n't have done it better herself." 

" I 'm sorry that it shows at all ; but it was im- 
possible to hide that corner, and if you wear it on 
the inside of the leg, it wont be seen much," ex- 
plained Abby, anxiously. 

" It shows just enough for me to know where to 
point when I boast of my girl's patience and skill. 
People say I 'm making a blue-stocking of you, 
because we read Johnson ; but my black stocking 
will prove that I have n't spoilt you yet," said Mr. 
Lyon, pinching her cheek, as they went down to 
dinner arm in arm. 

Literary ladies were looked upon with awe, and 
by many with disapproval, in those days, so Abby's 
studious tastes were criticised by the good cousins 
and aunts, who feared she might do something 
peculiar : though, years later, they were very proud 
of the fine letters she wrote and the intellectual 
society which she had unconsciously fitted herself 
to enjoy and adorn. 

Abby laughed at her father's joke, but said no 
more just then ; for young people sat silent at table 
while their elders talked. She longed to tell about 
Lucy ; and when dessert came, she drew her chair 
near to her father's, that she might pick the kernels 
from his walnuts and drop them into his wine, 
waiting till he said, as usual : " Now, little girl, let's 
take comfort." For both enjoyed the hour of rest 
he allowed himself in the middle of the day. 

On this occasion he varied the remark by add- 
ing, as he took a bill from his pocket-book and 
gave it to her with a kiss : 

" Well-earned money, my dear, and most cheer- 
fully paid." 

"' Thank you, sir ! It seems a great deal for 
such a little job. But I do want it very much. 
May I tell you how I 'd like to spend it, father ? " 
cried Abby, beaming with the sweet delight of 
helping others. 

'• Yes, child ; come and tell me. Something for 
sister, I suspect ; or a new book, perhaps." And, 
drawing her to his knee, Mr. Lyon waited with a 
face full of benignant interest in her little confi- 

She told her story eagerly and well, exclaiming 
as she ended : " And now, I 'm so glad, so very 
glad ; I have this money, all my own. to spend 
for those dear little things ! I know you '11 help 
them ; but it 's so nice to be able to do my part, 
and giving away is such a pleasure." 

'• You are your father's own daughter in that, 
child. I must go and get my contribution ready, 
or I shall be left out," said Mrs. Lyon, hastening 
away to add one more charity to the many which 
made her quiet life so beautiful. 

" I will go and see our neighbor this evening, 
and you shall come with me. You see, my girl, 
that the homely ' little job ' is likely to be a iarge 
and pleasant one, and you have earned your part 
in it. Do the duty that comes first, and one never 
knows what beautiful experience it may blossom 
into. Use your little earnings as you like, and God 
bless you, my dear." 

So Abby had her part in the happy days that 
came to the Mayhews, and enjoyed it more than a 
dozen work-boxes ; while her father was never tired 
of showing the handsome darn and telling the 
story of it. 

Help and comfort were much needed around the 
corner ; for very soon the poor lady died. But her 
confidence in the new friends raised up to her was 
not misplaced ; and when all was over, and people 
asked, " What will become of the children ? " Mr. 
Lyon answered the sad question by leading the 
four little orphans to his own house and keeping 
them till good homes were found for the three 

Lucy was heart-broken, and clung to Abby in 
her sorrow, as if nothing else could console her for 
all she had lost. No one had the heart to speak 
of sending her away at present ; and, before long, 
the grateful little creature had won a place for her- 
self which she never forfeited. 

It was good for Abby to have a care of this sort, 
and her generous nature enjoyed it thoroughly, as 
she played elder sister in the sweetest way. It was 
her first real lesson in the charity that made her 
after-life so rich and beautiful ; but then she little 
dreamed how well she was to be repaid for her 
small share in the good work which proved to be a 
blessing to them all. 

Soon, preparations for sister Catherine's wedding 
produced a pleasant bustle in the house, and both 
the younger girls were as busy as bees, helping 
everywhere. Dressmakers ripped and stitched up- 
stairs, visitors gossiped in the parlor, and cooks 
simmered and scolded in the kitchen ; while not- 
able Madam Lyon presided over the household, 
keeping the peace and gently bringing order out 
of chaos. 

Abby had a new sprigged muslin frock, with a 


30 ; 

white sash, and her first pair of silk stockings, a 
present from her father. A bunch of pink roses 
gave the finishing touch, and she turned up her 
hair with a tortoise-shell comb in honor of the 

All the relations — and there were many of them 
— came to the wedding, and the hospitable man- 
sion was crowded with old and young. A fine 
breakfast was prepared, a line of carriages filled 
the quiet street, and troops of stately ladies and 
gentlemen came marching in ; for the Lyons were 
a much-honored family. 

The interesting moment arrived at last, the min- 
ister opened his book, the lovely bride entered with 
her groom, and a solemn silence fell upon the 
rustling crowd. Abby was much excited, and felt 
that she was about to disgrace herself by crying. 
Fortunately she stood near the door, and finding 
that a sob would come at thought of her dear sister 
going away forever, she slipped out and ran up- 
stairs to hide her tears in the back bedroom, 
where she was put to accommodate guests. 

As she opened the door, a puff of smoke made 
her catch her breath, then run to throw open the 
window before she turned to look for the fallen 
brand. A fire had been kindled in this room a short 
time before, and, to Abby's dismay, the sudden 
draught fanned the smoldering sparks which had 
crept from a fallen log to the mop-board and 
thence around the wooden mantel-piece. A sus- 
picious crackling was heard, little tongues of flame 
darted from the cracks, and the air was full of 

Abby's first impulse was to fly down-stairs, 
screaming "fire!" at the top of her voice; her 
second was to stand still and think what to do, — for 
an instant's recollection showed her what terror 
and confusion such a cry would produce in the 
crowded house, and how unseemly a panic would 
be at such a time. 

" If I could only get at father ! But I can't with- 
out scaring everyone. What would he do ? I 've 
heard him tell about fires, and how to put them 
out, I know — stop the draught first," and Abby 
shut the window. " Now water and wet blankets," 
and away she ran to the bath-room, and filling a 
pail, dashed the water over the burning wood. 
Then, pulling the blankets from off the bed, she 
wet them as well as she could, and hung them up 
before the fire-place, going to and fro for more 
water till the smoke ceased to pour out and the 
crackling stopped. 

These energetic measures were taken just in time 
to prevent a serious fire, and when Abby dared to 
rest a moment with her eyes on the chimney, fear- 
ing the treacherous blaze might burst out in a new 
place, she discovered that her clothes were wet, 

her face blackened, her hands blistered, and her 
breath gone. 

" No matter," she thought, still too much elated 
with her success to feel the pain. " Father will be 
pleased, I know ; for this is what he would call an 
emergency, and I 've had my wits about me. I 
wish mother would come — O, dear ! how queerly 
I feel " and in the midst of her self-congrat- 
ulation, poor little Abby fainted away ; slipping 
to the floor and lying there like a new sort of 
Casabianca, faithful at her post. 

Lucy found her very soon, having missed her 
and come to look for her the minute the service 
was over. Much frightened, she ran down again 
and tried to tell Mr. and Mrs. Lyon quietly. But 
her pale face alarmed every one, and when Abby 
came to herself, she was in her father's arms, 
being carried from the scene of devastation to her 
mother's room, where a crowd of anxious relatives 
received her like a conquering hero. 

"Well done, my brave little fire-warden ! I 'm 
proud of you ! " were the first words she heard, and 
they were more reviving than the burnt feathers 
under her nose, or the lavender-water plentifully 
sprinkled over her by her mother and sister. 

With that hearty commendation, her father left 
her to see that all was safe, and Abby found that 
another sort of courage was needed to support her 
through the next half-hour of trial ; for her hands 
were badly burned, and each of the excellent rela- 
tives suggested a different remedy. 

"Flour them!" cried Aunt Sally, fanning her 

" Goose-oil and cotton-batting," suggested Aunt 

" Nothing so good as lard," pronounced Aunt 

"I always use dry starch or a piece of salt 
pork," added cousin Lucretia. 

" Butter them ! "commanded grandma. " That 's 
what I did when my Joseph fell into the boiler and 
came out with his blessed little legs the color of 
lobsters. " Butter them, Dolly." 

That settled the vexed question, and Abby's 
hands were well buttered, while a hearty laugh 
composed the spirits of the agitated party ; for the 
contrast between grandma's words and her splen- 
did appearance, as she sat erect in the big arm- 
chair issuing commands like a general in silver- 
gray satin and an imposing turban, was very 

Then Abby was left to repose, with Lucy and 
old Nurse beside her, while the rest went down to 
eat the wedding feast and see the happy pair oft" in 
a chaise, with the portmanteau slung underneath, 
on their quiet honey-moon trip to Pomfret. 

When the bustle was all over, Abbv found her- 




self a heroine in her small circle of admiring 
friends and neighbors, who praised and petted her 
as if she had saved the city from destruction. She 
needed comfort very much, for one hand was so 
seriously injured that it never entirely recovered 
from the deep burn which contracted two of her 
finger-tips. This was a great sorrow to the poor 
girl ; for she could no longer play on her piano, and 
was forced to content herself with singing like a 
lark when all joined in the sweet old ballads for- 
gotten now. 

It was a misfortune, but it had its happy side; 
for, during the long months when she was partially 
helpless, books were her solace, and she studied 
many things which other duties or pleasures would 
have crowded out if " Abby's poor hand " had not 
been an excuse for such liberty and indulgence. 
It did not make her selfish, however, for while 
regretting her uselessness, she unexpectedly found 
work to do that made her own life happy by 
cheering that of another. 

Lucy proved to be a most intelligent child ; and 
when Abby asked what return she could make for 
all the little girl's loving service during her trouble, 
she discovered that help about lessons would be 
the favor most desired. Lucy's too early cares 
had kept her from learning much, and now that 
she had leisure, weak eyes forbade study, and she 
longed vainly to get on as her new friend did ; for 
Abby was her model in all things, — looked up to 
with admiration, love, and wonder. 

" Father, I 've been thinking that I might read 
Lucy's lessons to her and hear her recite. Then 
she would n't grieve about being backward, and 
I can be eyes to her as she is hands to me. I can't 
sew or work now, but I can teach the little I know. 
May I, sir ? " asked Abby, one morning, after read- 
ing a paper in the Spectator, and having a pleas- 
ant talk about it during the happy half-hour. 

"A capital plan, Daughter, if you are sure you 
can keep on. To begin and then fail would leave 
the child worse off for the hope and disappoint- 
ment. It will be tiresome to go on day after day, 
so think well before you propose it," answered her 
father, much pleased with the idea. 

" I can do it, and I will! If I get tired, I '11 look 
at you and mother, always so faithful to what you 
undertake, and remember my motto," cried Abby, 
anxious to follow the example set her in the daily 
life of these good parents. 

A hearty hand-shake rewarded her, and she set 
about the new task with a resolute purpose to suc- 
ceed. It was hard at first to go back to her early- 
lessons and read them over and over again to 
eager Lucy, who did her best to understand, re- 
member, and recite. But good-will and gratitude 
worked wonders ; and day after day, week after 

week, monft after month, the teaching went on, to 
the great surprise and satisfaction of those who 
watched this labor of love. Both learned much, 
and a very strong, sweet friendship grew up, which 
lasted till the young girls became old women. 

For nearly two years the daily lessons were con- 
tinued ; then Lucy was ready and able to go to 
school, and Abby free from the duty that had 
grown a pleasure. Sister Catherine being gone, 
she was the young lady of the house now, and be- 
gan to go to a few parties, where she distinguished 
herself by her graceful dancing and sprightly 
though modest manners. She had grown strong 
and rosy with the exercise her sensible mother 
prescribed and her energetic father encouraged, 
taking long walks with her to Roxbury and Dor- 
chester on holidays, over bridges and around the 
common before breakfast each morning, till the 
pale little girl was a tall and blooming creature, 
full of life and spirit. Not exactly beautiful, but 
with a sweet, intelligent face, and the frank, cordial 
ways that are so charming. Her brother Sam was 
very proud of her, and liked to see her surrounded 
by his friends at the merry-makings to which he 
escorted her ; for she talked as well as she danced, 
and the older gentlemen enjoyed a good chat with 
Miss Abby as much as the younger ones did the elab- 
orate pigeon-wings and pirouettes then in vogue. 

Among the older men was one whom Abby much 
admired ; for he had fought, traveled, and studied 
more than most men of his age, and earned the 
honors he wore so modestly. She was never tired 
of asking him questions when they met, and he 
never seemed tired of giving long, interesting re- 
plies ; so they often sat and talked while others 
danced, and Abby never guessed that he was 
studying her bright face and innocent heart as 
eagerly as she listened to his agreeable conversa- 
tion and stirring adventures. 

Presently he came to the house with brother 
Sam, who shared Abby's regard for him ; and 
there, while the young men amused themselves or 
paid their respects to the elders, one of them was 
still watching the tall girl with the crown of brown 
hair, as she sat by her father, poured the tea for 
Madam, laughed with her brother, or made bash- 
ful Lucy share their pleasures ; always so busy, 
dutiful, and winning, that the visitor pronounced 
Mr. Lyon's the most delightful house in Boston. 
He heard all the little tales of Abby's youth from 
Sam, and Lucy added her tribute with the elo- 
quence of a grateful heart ; he saw how loved and 
trusted she was, and he soon longed to know how 
she would answer the question he desired to ask 
her. Having received permission from Papa, in 
the decorous old style, he only waited for an oppor- 
tunity to discover if charming Abigail would con- 

i88 4 .] 



sent to change her name from Lyon to Lamb; and, as 
if her lesson was to be quite complete, a little thing 
decided her fate and made a very happy woman 
of the good girl. 

On Abby's seventeenth birthday, there was to be a 
party in her honor, at the hospitable family mansion, 
to which all her friends were invited ; and, when 
she came down early to see that all was in order, 
she found one impatient guest had already arrived. 

It was not alone the consciousness that the new 

it," said Abby, glad to find employment for her 

A minute afterward she was sorry she had 
offered, for he accepted the little service with 
thanks, and stood watching while she sat down at 
her work-table and began to sew. She was very 
sensitive about her hand, yet ashamed of being so ; 
for the scar was inside and the drawn fingers 
showed very little, as it is natural to half close 
them. She hoped he had never seen it, and tried 

waBWntiffSfiSB^jsgjHSHg^f^^ - 


pink taffety gown and the beautiful new head- 
dress were very becoming which made her blush 
so prettily as she thanked her friend for the fine 
nosegay he brought her, but something in his 
face, though he only wished her many happy 
returns in a hearty way, and then added, laugh- 
ing, as the last button flew off the glove he was 
awkwardly trying to fasten : 

" It is evident that you did n't sew on these 
buttons, Miss Abby. I 've observed that Sam's 
never come off, and he says you always keep 
them in order." 

" Let me put one on for you. It will take but a 
moment, and you '11 be so uncomfortable without 

Vol. XL— 36. 

to hide it as she worked. But this, or some new 
consciousness, made her usually nimble fingers 
lose their skill, and she knotted the silk, split the 
button, and dropped her thimble, growing angry 
with herself for being so silly and getting so red 
and flurried. 

" I 'm afraid I 'm giving you a deal of trouble," 
said the gentleman, who was watching the white 
hands with great interest. 

"No; it is I who am foolish about my burnt 
hand," answered Abby, in her frank, impetuous 
way. " See how ugly it is ! " And she held it out 
as if to punish herself for the girlish feeling she 




The answer to this little outburst made her for- 
get everything but the sweetest pleasure and sur- 
prise ; for, kissing the scarred palm with tender 
respect, her lover said : 

" To me it is the finest and the dearest hand in 
the world. I know the brave story, and I 've seen 
the good this generous hand is never tired of doing. 
I want it for my own. Will you give it to me, 
dear ? " 

Abby must have answered " yes" ; for she wore a 
new ring under her own glove that night, and 
danced as if there were wings on the heels of her 
pink shoes. 

Whether the button ever got sewed on or not, 
no one knows ; but that bit of needlework was 
even more successful than the other small job, for 

in due time there was a second wedding, without a 
fire, and Abby went away to a happy home of her 
own, leaving sister Lucy to fill her place and be 
the most loving and faithful of daughters to her 
benefactors while they lived. 

Long years afterward, when she had children 
and grandchildren about her, listening to the true 
old stories that are the best, Abby used to say, 
with her own cheerful laugh : 

" My father and mother taught me many useful 
lessons, but none more valuable than those I 
learned that year ; and I may honestly say that 
patience, perseverance, courage, friendship and 
love came out of that silk stocking. So let me 
give you this bit of advice : Don't despise little 
things, my dears ! " 


By A. C. 

(T/u Start.) 

Swoop-a-hoo ! swoop-a-hoo ! 
To the left, to the right ; 
Swoop-a-hoo ! swoop-a-hoo ! 
On our rollers so bright ! 
Swoop-a-hoo ! here we go ; 
All a-gliding along; 
Swoop-a-hoo ! here we go ; 
With a roller-skate song ! 

Sweep around, one and all ! 
Make the curve, — do not fall ! 

— That was gracefully done. 

Hurrah for the fun ! 

Whiz-a-whir ! whiz-a-whir ! 
What a rush, what a stir ! 
Every child on the track 
Whizzing back! whizzing back! 

Whiz-a-whir ! whiz-a-whir ! 
What a rush, what a stir ! 
All the children in town 
Whizzing down, whizzing down ! 

(The Turn.) 

Slower now. Have a care ! 
Here's the corner, — beware! 
See the curb ! It is near ; 
We must carefully steer. 

(Home again.) 

Swoop-a-hoo ! swoop-a-hoo ! 
To the left, — to the right. 
Swoop-a-hoo ! swoop-a-hoo ! 
All aglow with delight ! 
Swoop-a-hoo ! who 's ahead ? 
Well, they 're all nearly there. 
Swoop-a-hoo ! cheeks so red ; 
Full of laughter, the air ! 
Swoop-a-hoo ! swoop-a-hoo ! swoop-a-hoo ! 

i88 4 .] 






[Afterward King Olaf II. , of N<n~<vay. ] 

A. D. IOIO. 

Old Rane, the helmsman, whose fierce mus- 
taches and shaggy shoulder-mantle made him look- 
like some grim old northern wolf, held high in 
air the great bison-horn filled with foaming mead. 

" Skoal to the Viking ! Hael ; was-hael ! "t rose 
his exultant shout. From a hundred sturdy throats 
the cry reechoed till the vaulted hall of the Swede- 
men's conquered castle rang again. 

" Skoal to the Viking ! Hael ; was-hael ! " and in 
the center of that throng of mail-clad men and 
tossing spears, standing firm and-fearless upon the 
interlocked and uplifted shields of three stalwart 
fighting-men, a stout-limbed lad of scarce thirteen, 
with flowing light-brown hair and flushed and eager 
face, brandished his sword vigorously in acknowl- 
edgment of the jubilant shout that rang once 
again through the dark and smoke-stained hall, 
"Was-hael to the sea-wolf's son ! Skoal to Olaf 
the King ! " 

A fierce and warlike shout, boys and girls, to be 
given in honor of so young a lad. But those were 
fierce and warlike days when men were stirred by 
the recital of bold and daring deeds — those old, 
old days, eight hundred years ago, when Olaf, the 
boy viking, the pirate chief of a hundred mail- 
clad men, stood upon the uplifted shields of his 
exultant fighting-men in the heavy-raftered ban- 

queting-hall of the gray castle 
of captured Sigtun, the oldest 
of all the old Swedish cities. 

Take your atlas and, turning 
to the map of Sweden, place your finger on the 
city of Stockholm. Do you notice that it lies at 
the easterly end of a large lake ? That is the Mae- 
lar, beautiful with winding channels, pine-covered 
islands, and rocky shores. It is peaceful and quiet 
now,' and palace and villa and quaint northern 
farm-house stand unmolested on its picturesque 
borders. But channels, and islands, and rocky 
shores have echoed and reechoed with the war- 
shouts of many a fierce sea-rover since those far-off 
days when Olaf, the boy viking, and his Norwegian 
ships of war plowed through the narrow sea-strait, 
and ravaged the fair shores of the Maelar with fire 
and sword. 

Stockholm, the '' Venice of the North," as it is 
called, was not then in existence ; and little now 
remains of old Sigtun save ruined walls. But 
travelers may still see the three tall towers of the 
ancient town, and the great stone-heap, alongside 
which young Olaf drew his ships of war, and over 
which his pirate crew swarmed into Sigtun town, 
and planted the victorious banner of the golden 
serpent upon the conquered walls. 

For this fair young Olaf came of hardy Norse 
stock. His father, Harald Graenske, or "Grey- 
mantle," one of the tributary kings of Norway, 
had fallen a victim to the torture of the haughty 
Swedish queen ; and now his son, a boy of scarce 
thirteen, but a warrior already by training and 
from desire, came to avenge his father's death. His 

t " Hail and Health to the Viking ! " 
* Copyright, 1S83, by E. S.. Brooks. All rights reserved. 

i88 4 .; 



mother, the queen Aasta, equipped a large dragon- 
ship or war-vessel for her adventurous son, and 
with the lad, as helmsman and guardian, was sent 
old Rane, whom men called "the far-traveled," 
because he had sailed westward as far as England 
and southward to Norvasund (by which name they 
then knew the Straits of Gibraltar). Boys tough- 
ened quickly in those stirring days, and this lad 
who, because he was commander of a dragon-ship, 
was called Olaf the King, — though he had no land 
to rule,— was of viking blood, and quickly learned 
the trade of war. Already, among the rocks and 
sands of Sodcrmann, upon the Swedish coast, he 
had won his first battle over a superior force of 
Danish war-vessels. 

Other ships of war joined him ; the name of 
Olaf the Brave was given him by right of daring 
deeds, and " Skoal to the Viking ! " rang from the 
sturdy throats of his followers as the little sea- 
king was lifted in triumph upon the battle-dented 

But a swift runner bursts into the gray hall of 
Sigtun. "To your ships, O King ; to your ships ! " 
he cries. "Olaf, the Swedish king, men say, is 
planting a forest of spears along the sea-strait, 
and, except ye push out now, ye may not get out 
at all ! " 

The nimble young chief sprang from the up- 
raised shields. 

"To your ships, Vikings, all!" he shouted. 
Up with the serpent banner, and away ! " 

Straight across the lake to the sea-strait, near 
where Stockholm now stands, the vikings sailed, 
young Olaf's dragon-ship taking the lead. But 
all too late ; for, across the narrow strait, the 
Swedish king had stretched great chains, and had 
filled up the channel with stocks and stones. 

The boy viking stood by his dragon-headed 
prow, and shook his clenched fist at the obstructed 
sea-strait and the Swedish spears. 

" Shall we then land, Rane, and fight our way- 
through ? " he asked. 

" Fight our way through ? " said old Rane, who 
had been in many another tight place in his years 
of sea-roving, but none so close as this. " Why, 
King, they be a hundred to one ! " 

"Well, may we not cut these chains, then?" 
said impetuous Olaf. 

"As soon think of cutting the solid earth, 
King," said the helmsman. 

"So; and why not, then?" young Olaf ex- 
claimed, struck with a brilliant idea. "Ho, 
Sigvat," he said, turning to one of his men, " what 
was that lowland under the cliff which thou didst 
tell me of? " 

" 'T is called the fen of Agnefit, O King," 
replied the man, pointing toward where it lay. 

" Why, then, my Rane," asked the boy, " may 
we not cut our way out through that lowland fen 
to the open sea and liberty ? " 

" 'T is Olaf's own device," cried the delighted 
helmsman, catching at his young chief's plan. 
"Ho, war-wolves all, bite ye your way through 
the Swedish fens ! Up with the serpent banner, 
and farewell to Olaf the Swede ! " 

It seemed a narrow chance, but it was the only 
one. And so, in the dead of night the Swedish 
captives and stout Norse oarsmen were set to work, 
and before day-break an open cut had been made 
in the lowlands beneath Agnefit, or the " Rock of 
King Agne," where, by the town of Sodertelje, 
the vikings' canal is still shown to travelers ; the 
waters of the lake came rushing through the cut, 
and an open sea-strait waited young Olaf's fleet. 

A strong breeze blew astern ; the Norse rowers 
steered the cumbrous ships with their long oars, 
and with a mighty rush, through the new canal 
and over all the shallows, out into the great Norr- 
strom, or North Stream, as the Baltic Sea was 
called, the fleet passed in safety while the loud 
war-horns blew the notes of triumph. 

So the boy viking escaped from the trap of the 
Swedish king, and then away he sailed to Gotland, 
to Finland, and at last, "through the wild sea" 
to Denmark, where he met a brother viking, 
one Thorkell the Tall. The two chiefs struck 
up a sort of partnership ; and coasting southward 
along the western shores of Denmark, they won 
a sea-fight in the Ringkiobing fiord, among the 
" sand hills of Jutland." And so business con- 
tinued brisk with this curiously^ matched pirate 
firm — a giant and a boy — until, under the cliffs 
of Kinlimma, in Friesland, hasty word came to the 
boy viking that the English king, Ethelred " The 
Unready," was calling for the help of all sturdy 
fighters to win back his heritage and crown from 
young king Cnut, or Canute the Dane, whose 
father had seized the throne of England. Instantly, 
Olaf, the ever ready, hoisted his blue and crimson 
sails and steered his war-ships over sea to help 
King Ethelred, the never ready. Up the Thames 
and straight for London town he rowed. 

" Hail to the serpent banner ! Hail to Olaf the 
Brave ! " said King Ethelred, as the war-horns 
sounded a welcome ; and on the low shores of the 
Isle of Dogs, just below the old city, the keels of 
the Norse war-ships grounded swiftly, and the boy 
viking and his followers leaped ashore. "Thou 
dost come in right good time with thy trusty 
dragon-ships, young King," said King Ethelred; 
"for the Danish robbers are full well entrenched 
in London town and in my father Edgar's castle." 

And then he told Olaf how, " in the great trad- 
ing place which is called Southwark," the Danes 




had raised " a great work and dug large ditches, 
and within had builded a bulwark of stone, timber 
and turf, where they had stationed a large army." 

" And we would fain have taken this bulwark," 
added the King, " and did in sooth bear down 
upon it with a great assault ; but indeed we could 
make naught of it." 

" And why not ? " asked the young viking. 

" Because," said King Ethelred, " upon the 
bridge betwixt the castle and Southwark have the 
ravaging Danes raised towers and parapets, breast 
high, and thence they did cast down stones and 
weapons upon us so that we could not prevail. 
And now, Sea-King, what dost thou counsel ? 
How may we avenge ourselves of our enemies and 
win the town ? " 

Impetuous as ever, and impatient of obstacles, 
the young viking said, "How? why, pull thou 
down this bridge, King, and then may ye have 
free river-way to thy castle." 

" Break down great London Bridge, young 
hero? " cried the amazed king. " How may that 
be ? Have we a Duke Samson among us to do so 
great a feat ? " 

" Lay me thy ships alongside mine, King, close 
to this barricaded bridge," said the valorous boy, 
" and I will vow to break it down, or ye may call 
me caitiff and coward." 

"Be it so," said Ethelred, the English king; 
and all the war-chiefs echoed, "be it so ! " So 
Olaf and his trusty Rane made ready the war 
forces for the destruction of the bridge. 

Old London Bridge was not what we should now 
call an imposing structure, but our ancestors of 
eight centuries back esteemed it quite a bridge. 
The chronicler says that it was "so broad that 
two wagons could pass each other upon it," and 
" under the bridge were piles driven into the bot- 
tom of the river." 

So young Olaf and old Rane put their heads to- 
gether, and decided to wreck the bridge by a bold 
viking stroke. And this is how it is told in the 
" Heimskringla," or Saga of King Olaf: 

" King Olaf ordered great platforms of floating wood to be tied 
together with hazel bands, and for this he took down old houses ; 
and with these, as a roof, he covered over his ships so widely that 
it reached over the ships' sides. Under this screen he set pillars, so 
high and stout that there both was room for swinging their swords, 
and the roofs were strong enough to withstand the stones cast down 
upon them." 

" Now, out oars and pull for the bridge," young 
Olaf commanded; and the roofed-over war-ships 
were rowed close up to London Bridge. 

And as they came near the bridge, the chroni- 
cle says, "there were cast upon them, by the 
Danes upon the bridge, so many stones and mis- 
sile weapons, such as arrows and spears, that nei- 

ther helmet nor shield could hold out against it; 
and the ships themselves were so greatly damaged 
that many retreated out of it." 

But the boy viking and his Norsemen were 
there for a purpose, and were not to be driven 
back by stones or spears or arrows. Straight ahead 
they rowed, " quite up under the bridge." 

" Out cables, all, and lay them around the piles," 
the young sea-king shouted ; and the strong, brave 
rowers, unshipping their oars, reached out under 
the roofs and passed the stout cables twice around 
the wooden supports of the bridge. The loose end 
was made fast to a cleat in the stern of each vessel, 
and then, turning and heading down stream, King 
Olaf's twenty stout war-ships waited his word. 

" Out oars ! " he cried; "pull, war-birds! Pull 
all, as if ye were for Norway ! " 

Forward and backward swayed the stout Norse 
rowers ; tighter and tighter pulled the cables ; fast 
down upon the straining war-ships rained the 
Danish spears and stones ; but the wooden piles 
under the great bridge were loosened by the steady 
tug of the cables, and soon with a sudden spurt the 
Norse war-ships darted down the river, while the 
slackened cables towed astern the captured piles of 
London Bridge. A great shout went up from the 
besiegers, and "now," says the chronicle, "as the 
armed troops stood thick upon the bridge, and 
there were likewise many heaps of stones and other 
weapons upon it, the bridge gave way ; and a great 
part of the men upon it fell into the river, and all 
the others fled — some into the castle, some into 
Southwark." And before King Ethelred, "The 
Unready," could pull his ships to the attack, young 
Olaf's fighting-men had sprung ashore, and, 
storming the Southwark earthworks, carried all 
before them, and the Battle of London Bridge 
was won. 

So King Ethelred won back his kingdom, and 
the boy viking was honored above all others. To 
him was given the chief command in perilous ex- 
peditions against the Danes, and the whole de- 
fense of all the coast of England. North and 
south along the coast he sailed with all his war- 
ships, and Danes and Englishmen long remem- 
bered the dashing but dubious ways of this young 
sea-rover, who swept the English coast and claimed 
his dues from friend and foe alike. For those 
were days of insecurity for merchant and trader 
and farmer, and no man's wealth or life was safe 
except as he paid ready tribute to the fierce Norse 
allies of King Ethelred. But soon after this, King 
Ethelred died, and young Olaf, thirsting for new 
adventures, sailed away to the south and fought his 
way all along the French-coast as far as the mouth 
of the river Garonne. Many castles he captured ; 
many rival vikings subdued ; much spoil he gath- 

i88 4 .; 



ered; until at last his dragon-ships lay moored 
under the walls of old Bordeaux, waiting for fair 
winds to take him around to the Straits of Gibral- 
tar, and so on " to the land of Jerusalem." 

One day, in the booty-filled "fore-hold" of his 
dragon-ship, the young sea-king lay asleep ; and 
suddenly, says the old record, " he dreamt a won- 
drous dream." 

" Olaf, great head of kings, attend ! " he heard 
a deep voice call; and, looking up, the dreamer 
seemed to see before him " a great and important 
man, but of a terrible appearance withal." 

" If that thou art Olaf the Brave, as men do call 
thee," said the vision, "turn thyself to nobler 
deeds than vikings' ravaging and this wandering 
cruise. Turn back, turn back from thy purposeless 
journey to the land of Jerusalem, where neither 
honor nor fame awaits thee. Son of King Harald, 
return thee to thy heritage ; for thou shalt be King 
over all Norway." 

Then the vision vanished and the young rover 
awoke to find himself alone, save for the sleeping 
foot-boy across the cabin door-way. So he quickly 
summoned old Rane, the helmsman, and told his 

" 'T was for thy awakening, King," said his stout 
old follower. " 'T was the great Olaf, thine uncle, 
Olaf Tryggvesson the King, that didst call thee. 
Win Norway, King, for the portent is that thou 
and thine shall rule thy fatherland." 

And the war-ships' prows were all turned north- 
ward again, as the boy viking, following the 
promise of his dream, steered homeward for Nor- 
way and a throne. 

Now in Norway Earl Eric was dead. For thir- 
teen years he had usurped the throne that should 
have been filled by one of the great King Olaf's 
line ; and, at his death, his handsome young son, 
Earl Hakon the Fair, ruled in his father's stead. 
And when young King Olaf heard this news, he 
shouted for joy and cried to Rane : 

" Now, home in haste, for Norway shall be 
either Hakon's heritage or mine ! " 

" 'T is a fair match of youth 'gainst youth," 
said the trusty helmsman ; " and if but fair luck 
go with thee, Norway shall be thine ! " 

So, from " a place called Furovald," somewhere 
between the mouths of Humber and of Tees, on 
the English coast, King Olaf, with but two stout 
war-ships and two hundred and twenty "well- 
armed and chosen persons," shook out his purple 
sails to the North Sea blasts, and steered straight 
for Norway. 

And now news comes {hat Earl Hakon, with a 
single war-ship, is steering north from Sogne Fiord ; 
and Olaf, pressing on, lays his two ships on either 
side of a narrow strait, or channel, in Sandunga 

Sound. Here he stripped his ships of all their 
war-gear, and stretched a great cable deep in the 
water, across the narrow strait. Then he wound 
the cable ends around the capstans, ordered all his 
fighting-men out of sight, and waited for his rival. 
Soon Earl Hakon's war-ship, crowded with rowers 
and fighting-men, entered the strait. Seeing, as he 
supposed, but two harmless merchant-vessels lying 
on either side of the channel, the young earl bade 
his rowers pull between the two. Suddenly there 
is a stir on the quiet merchant-vessels. The cap- 
stan bars are manned ; the sunken cable is drawn 
taut. Up goes the stern of Earl Hakon's entrapped 
war-ship; down plunges her prow into the waves, 
and the water pours into the doomed boat. A 
loud shout is heard ; the quiet merchant-vessels 
swarm with mail-clad men, and the air is filled with 
a shower of stones, and spears, and arrows. The 
surprise is complete. Tighter draws the cable ; 
over topples Earl Hakon's vessel, and he and all his 
men are among the billows struggling for life. 
" So," says the record, " King Olaf took Earl Hakon 
and all his men whom they could get hold of out 
of the water and made them prisoners ; but some 
were killed and some were drowned." 

Into the "fore-hold" of the King's ship the 
captive earl was led a prisoner, and there the 
young rivals for Norway's crown faced each other. 
The two lads were of nearly the same age, — be- 
tween sixteen and seventeen, — and young Earl 
Hakon was considered the handsomest youth in 
all Norway. His helmet was gone, his sword was 
lost, his ring-steel suit was sadly disarranged, and 
his long hair, " fine as silk," was " bound about 
his head with a gold ornament." Fully expecting 
the fate of all captives in those cruel days, — in- 
stant death, — the young earl nevertheless faced 
his boy conqueror proudly, resolved to meet his fate 
like a man. 

" They speak truth who say of the house of Eric 
that ye be handsome men," said the King, study- 
ing his prisoner's face. " But now, Earl, even 
though thou be fair to look upon, thy luck hath 
failed thee at last." 

" Fortune changes," said the young earl. " We 
both be boys; and thou, King, art perchance the 
shrewder youth. Yet, had w r e looked for such a 
trick as thou hast played upon us, we had not 
thus been tripped upon thy sunken cables. Better 
luck next time." 

"Next time!" echoed the King; "dost thou 
not know, Earl, that as thou standest there, a pris- 
oner, there may be no ' next time ' for thee ? " 

The young captive understood full well the 
meaning of the words. " Yes, King." he said; 
" it must be only as thou mayst determine. Man 
can die but once. Speak on ; I am ready ! " But 

5 6o 



Olafsaid: " What wilt thou give me, Earl, if at "Nothing," said the generous young viking, 
this time I do let thee go, whole and unhurt ? " advancing nearer to his handsome rival. " As 


" 'T is not what I may give, but what thou thou did'st say, we both be boys, and life is 
mayst take, King," the earl made answer. " I all before us. Earl, I give thee thy life, do thou 
am thy prisoner; what wilt thou take to free me?" but take oath before me to leave this mv realm of 

i88 4 .] 



Norway, to give up thy kingdom, and never to do 
battle against me hereafter." 

The conquered earl bent his fair young head. 

" Thou art a generous chief, King Olaf," he 
said. " I take my life as thou dost give it, and 
all shalt be as thou wilt." 

So Earl Hakon took the oath, and King Olaf 
righted his rival's capsized war-ship, refitted it 
from his own stores of booty, and thus the two 
lads parted ; the young earl sailing off to his uncle, 
King Canute, in England, and the boy viking 
hastening eastward to Vigen, where lived his 
mother, the Queen Aasta, whom he had not seen 
for full five years. 

It is harvest-time in the year 1014. Without 
and within the long, low house of Sigurd Syr, at 
Vigen, all is excitement ; for word has come that 
Olaf the sea-king has returned to his native land, 
and is even now on his way to this, his mother's 
house. Gay stuffs decorate the dull walls of the 
great- room, clean straw covers the earth-floor, 
and upon the long, four-cornered tables is spread 
a mighty feast of mead and ale and coarse but 
hearty food, such as the old Norse heroes drew 
their strength and muscle from. At the door-way 
stands the Queen Aasta and her maidens, while 
before the entrance, with thirty "well-clothed 
men," waits young Olaf's step-father, wise Sigurd 
Syr, gorgeous in a jeweled suit, a scarlet cloak, 
and a glittering golden helmet. The watchers on 
the house-tops hear a distant shout, now another 
and nearer one, and soon, down the highway, they 
catch the gleam of steel and the waving of many 
banners ; and now they can distinguish the stal- 
wart forms of Olaf's chosen hundred men, their 
shining coats of ring-mail, their foreign helmets, 
and their crossleted shields flashing in the sun. 
In the very front rides old Rane, the helmsman, 
bearing the great white banner blazoned with the 
golden serpent, and, behind him, cased in golden 
armor, his long brown hair flowing over his sturdy 
shoulders, rides the boy viking, Olaf of Norway. 

It was a brave home-coming; and as the stout 
young hero, leaping from his horse, knelt to re- 
ceive his mother's welcoming kiss, the people 
shouted for joy. the banners waved, and the war- 
horns played their loudest. 

The hero of nine great sea-fights, and of many 

smaller ones, before he was seventeen, young Olaf 
Haraldson was a remarkable boy, even in the days 
when all boys aimed to be battle-tried heroes. 
Toughened in frame and fiber by his five years of 
sea-roving, he had become strong and self-reliant, 
a man in action though but a boy in years. 

'•'I am come," he said to his mother and his 
step-father, "to take the heritage of my forefathers. 
But not from Danish nor from Swedish kings will I 
supplicate that which is mine by right. Either I 
shall bring all this kingdom of Norway under my 
rule, or I shall fall here upon my inheritance in the 
land of my fathers." 

These were bold words for a boy of seventeen. 
But they were not idle boastings. Before a year 
had passed, young Olaf's pluck and courage had 
won the day, and in harvest-time, in the year 1015, 
being then but little more than eighteen years old, 
he was crowned King of Norway in the Drontheim, 
or " Throne-home," of Nidaros, the royal city, now 
called on your atlas the citv of Drontheim. For 
fifteen years King Olaf the Second ruled his realm 
of Norway. The old record says that he was " a 
good and very gentle man " ; but history shows his 
goodness and' gentleness to have been of a rough 
and savage kind. The wild and stern experiences 
of his viking days lived again even in his attempts 
to reform and benefit his land. When he who 
had himself been a pirate tried to put down piracy, 
and he who had been a wild young robber sought 
to force all Norway to become Christian, he did 
these things in so fierce and cruel a way that at 
last his subjects rebelled, and King Canute came 
over with a great army to wrest the throne from 
him. On the bloody field of Stiklestad, July 29, 
1030, the stern King Olaf fell. 

So King Canute conquered Norway ; but after 
his death, Olaf's son, Magnus the Good, regained 
his father.'s throne. The people, sorrowful at their 
rebellion against King Olaf, forgot his stern and 
cruel ways, and magnified all his good deeds might- 
ily. And, after King Magnus died, his descendants 
ruled in Norway for nearly four hundred years ; and 
thus was brought to pass the promise of the dream 
that, in the " fore-hold" of the great dragon-ship, 
under the walls of old Bordeaux, came so many- 
years before to the daring and sturdy young Olaf of 
Norway, the Boy Viking. 





By Maurice Thompson. 

Chapter I. 


TWO strong, fair-haired, blue-eyed boys ap- 
proached their father as he sat by his pleasant 
library window reading. 

" Father," said the older boy, a youth of about 
fifteen years of age, " we have something very 
serious. Hugh and I, that we wish to submit to 

" And what is it. Neil ? " inquired Mr. Burton, 
lifting his kind eyes from his book, and looking 
first at Neil and then at Hugh, as they stood 
flushed and excited before him. 

" We wish you would let us go to a new sort of 
school," said Neil. 

"And what sort of school is it?" Mr. Burton 
demanded, in his usual cheery tone. 

* Copyright, 1883, by 

•" Oh. it 's a shooting school," cried Hugh, who 
was a quick, impulsive boy; "it's going to be 
immense, so Tom Dale says, and Ed Jones is 
going, and " 

" Hold on. Hugh," said Neil, gently interrupt- 
ing him: "let me explain the whole thing to 
father, so that he can understand. You see, 
there 's a man who has a shooting-gallery " 

A decided frown from Mr. Burton cut Neil's 
enthusiastic description short off. For more than 
a year the boys had been begging for a gun, and 
the kind father had exhausted his ingenuity in the 
effort to invent a sufficient number of excuses for 
not promptly meeting their desires. In fact, Mr. 
Burton did not like guns himself, and was very 
much opposed to allowing boys to handle fire- 
arms. As is the case in most villages, there had 
been in Belair, where our story begins, two or 
three distressing accidents through the careless- 
Maurice Thompson. 

i83 4 .J 



ness of boys with guns, and it made a chill creep 
up the father's back to think of trusting one of 
his dear boys to the chances of such dangers. 
Of course, Neil and Hugh did not stop to 
reason about the matter. Other boys had guns. 
Only the day before, George Roberts, a young 
playmate of theirs, had brought in half a dozen 
meadow-larks, killed with his single-barreled shot- 
gun at his father's country-place. They had 
listened to George's enthusiastic description of 
his day's sport, until that night they dreamed it 
all over again. 

" It hardly seems fair that we can't have such 
fun," Hugh had said to Neil, after George had 

"Of course, father is right." said Neil, who 
was a proud, honorable boy; "but I don't see 
why guns can't be made safe for boys." 

"They are safe," insisted Hugh. "I know 
perfectly well that I 'd never hurt myself or any 
one else with a gun if I had one. What 's the use 
of being careless ? I don't see any excuse for all 
these accidents." 

" That 's what I say, too," said Neil. " If you 
keep the muzzle of the gun pointed away from 
yourself, how is it going to shoot you, I 'd like to 
know ? " 

But a man had fitted up a " shooting school " in 
the village, and the boys were all anxious to go. 
For five cents, a boy could shoot three times at 
a target ; and the big-lettered bills posted here and 
there announced that extreme care would be taken 
to prevent accident. " Surely," thought Neil and 
Hugh, " Father will not object to our trying our 
hands once or twice in a safe shooting school." 

But Mr. Burton did object very prompdy, and 
in a tone so decided that the boys turned dolefully 
away. He called them back, however, and ex- 
plained to them that a shooting gallery was a 
place where all sorts of rough fellows congregated, 
some of whom would bet and swear ; that it was 
no place for good boys. 

"I did n't know that," said Neil; "I thought 
it would be all right, and — and, I — I wanted to 
learn to shoot, like other boys." 

Mr. Burton looked steadily at the boys. He 
was a very kind man, and loved his children 
dearly. It was because he loved them that he had 
so long refused to allow them to have a gun. He 
had always believed that a dog and a gun could 
ruin any boy, especially if the boy had his own 
way. No doubt, in a measure, he was right. 
Boys need the directing care of grown-up men in 
almost everything, particularly where danger is in- 
volved and some fearful accident may result from 
the slightest mismanagement. 

"Boys, will nothing satisfy you but guns?" 

Mr. Burton said this in a hopeless sort of tone that 
brought a quick flush to Neil's cheek. 

" I don't believe 1 can ever be satisfied without 
a gun," eagerly exclaimed Hugh. 

"Well, I can," said Neil, proudly. " If it is 
n't right for me to have a gun, I '11 try and not 
want one." 

" Hut it is right," insisted Hugh, going nearer 
Mr. Burton. " All the boys that amount to any- 
thing have guns. Philo Lucas has a double-bar- 
reled one." 

Neil was amazed at Hugh's energetic way of 
pushing the matter ; he looked at Mr. Burton to 
see how it impressed him. 

" I heard a man say not long ago," remarked 
the father, "that he thought he should have to 
prosecute Philo Lucas." 

"Oh ! What for?" both boys inquired in a 

"For killing robins and meadow-larks, which 
is against the law." 

" Meadow-larks ! Is it unlawful to shoot mead- 
ow-larks?" cried Hugh. 

"Yes; and all other insect-eating birds not in 
the list of game-birds," replied Mr. Burton. 

The boys looked at each other as it flashed into 
their minds that George Roberts was a law-breaker 
and liable to be fined or imprisoned for killing 
those meadow-larks. 

"But we wont shoot any ot those little birds," 
Hugh hurried to say ; "we '11 shoot quails and 
ducks and snipe and " 

"What will we shoot them with?" said Neil, 
smiling rather grimly. 

" Oh, but Papa will buy us some guns! Wont 
you, Papa? " cried the enthusiastic Hugh. 

Mr. Burton rose and put his book on a table. His 
face wore a troubled expression. It was plain to 
him that a crisis in his boys' lives had been reached, 
and that they must be helped safely over it. 

One thing was sure, he could not consent to 
allow Neil and Hugh to be running over the coun- 
try with guns in their hands, with no safe person 
to direct and restrain them. 

He walked back and forth for a while, the boys 
eying him half hopefully, half despairingly. Pres- 
ently he said : 

" Neil, will you and Hugh promise me that, if I 
consider this question of guns carefully and con- 
scientiously with a view to your best interests, you 
will cheerfully abide by my decision ? " 

" Oh, 5'es, yes ! " cried Hugh in a second ; " and 
I want mine a double-barrel, with engraved locks, 
and a pistol-grip to the stock ! " 

Mr. Burton smiled in spite of the gravity of the 
situation. Neil laughed, too. at Hugh's sanguine 

5 6 4 



"I shall want ten days of time to study this 
subject," said Mr. Burton ; " and at the end of that 
time, I shall decide guns or no guns, and the mat- 
ter is then to be at final rest." 

" Yes, sir," said Neil ; " I shall be satisfied with 
your decision, for I know that you know best." 

" Oh, papa, but you must n't decide against us. 
I do want a gun so much, and I '11 be so careful ! " 
cried Hugh, almost trembling. 

Mr. Burton dismissed his sons, promising to 
study the subject of guns for boys very carefully, 
and to let them know his conclusion at the end of 
ten days. He was a conscientious, prudent man, 
full of keen sympathies with the tastes of healthy 
boys, and he greatly desired to give the fullest 
scope consistent with safety to the development of 
strong, manly natures in Neil and Hugh. He had 
never been able to join in any field-sports himself, 
owing to a lame knee, and consequently he knew 
very little about guns or their use. He had often 
imagined, however, what excitement there must 
be in following the bevies of game-birds from field 
to field in the crisp autumn weather, or in flushing 
the swift-winged woodcock from marshy thickets 
in July. He had the sportsman's instincts, but 
his unfortunate lameness had shut off from him 
any active participation in the sportsman's pleas- 
ures. This, no doubt, served to strengthen his 
desire to see his boys have all the freedom that the 
accident of his life had denied to him. 

So Mr. Burton began a systematic examination 
of the subject of allowing boys to learn the use of 
fire-arms. He consulted with sportsmen on one 
hand, and with men who opposed field-sports on 
the other hand. He carefully weighed all the 
arguments of both sides. He tried to make of 
himself an impartial judge ; but it was no easy 
matter. His solicitude for the welfare of his sons, 
the well-known danger of fire-arms, the tendency 
of too much indulgence in field-sports toward idle- 
ness and an unambitious life, and the earnest 
protest of some of his most trusted friends against 
allowing boys to have guns, would overbear his 
desire to please Neil and Hugh. 

When the ten days had passed, the decision had 
been reached, .however, and what it was will be 
told in the next chapter. 

Chapter II. 


WHILE Mr. Burton was in the depth of his di- 
lemma about guns, his brother Charles, whom 
Neil and Hugh had always called Uncle Charley, 
came, on a visit, from his plantation home in Ten- 
nessee. It was the day before the end of the time 

for Mr. Burton's decision when Uncle Charley 
arrived, bringing his gun with him. Almost the 
first thing he said was : 

" How far is it to the nearest prairie? Are the 
prairie-chickens as plentiful as usual this season ?" 

He was an inveterate sportsman. Neil and 
Hugh were delighted. They felt sure that Uncle 
Charley would use his influence with their father 
in favor of letting them learn to shoot. 

He was a tall, dark man with a long mustache 
and curly black hair, very kind and gentle in his 
manner, and exceedingly fond of boys, though 
he was a bachelor. Of course, he had a great 
deal to talk about with Mr. Burton before he 
could find time to say much to Neil and Hugh, 
who were longing to draw him out upon the sub- 
ject nearest their hearts. But Hugh, who was 
always inclined to be irrepressible, would manage 
now and then to slip in a word or two about guns 
and hunting. Neil, who was older and steadier, 
wisely held his tongue. 

It was a moment of breathless interest when Mr. 
Burton, without any preliminaries whatever, sud- 
denly said to his brother in the hearing of the 
boys : 

" Charles. I have a gun question that I must 
settle for Neil and Hugh, and I want your advice." 

" Well," said Uncle Charley, blandly, "what is 
the nature of the question ? " 

" Are the boys large enough to be trusted with 
shot-guns ? Ought they to be allowed to have 
them? " 

Mr. Burton put these questions with intense 
gravity of voice and manner. Uncle Charley 
looked at Neil and Hugh, and smilingly shook his 

"Rather small, rather small," he promptly 

Neil turned pale, and the tears actually jumped 
into Hugh's eyes. 

" That is just my opinion," said Mr. Burton ; " I 
have been considering the matter for some days. 
The boys have been asking me to buy them guns. 
They promised to stand manfully by my decision, 
and I am glad that you, who know so much about 
guns and shooting, have helped to confirm me in 
my first impression." 

" The boys are rather small," said Uncle 
Charley, reflectively; "but I don't know, — they 
look like careful, sensible lads. How old are you, 
Neil ? " 

" I am past fifteen, sir," the boy replied, with a 
touch of pride in his tone. 

" And I 'm thirteen, going on fourteen," cried 

A tender, sympathetic light had come into Uncle 
Charley's face. He fully appreciated the hopes 



and fears of his young kinsmen. He had the 
feelings of a big grown-up boy himself. 

" Suppose we sleep over this question," he said 
to Mr. Burton, "and possibly we may see through 
it more clearly in the morning." 

By this time, Hugh's heart was jumping and 
diumping so, that he was sure Uncle Charley 
would hear it. As for Neil, he gave Uncle 
Charley a grateful look, which was perfectly 

That night, the boys lay in their bed and 
talked over the probabilities. 

"Oh, I 'm sure we '11 get our guns now," said 
Hugh. " Uncle Charley is on our side ; I saw 
that ; and he '11 have influence with papa." 

" If father has n't already made up his mind, 
you are right," assented Neil ; " but if he has 
determined against us, Uncle Charley never can 
change him." 

" It would be too bad if all our hopes and plans 
should fall through now, would n't it ? " said Hugh. 

" Yes, but we 'd really be no worse off. We 've 
always had a good time, you know," philosophized 

Greatly to the disappointment of the boys, 
neither Mr. Burton nor Uncle Charley mentioned 
guns or shooting next morning. Quite early, the 
gentlemen drove away from the house, and did 
not return until late in the afternoon. Then some 
friends came to dine, and the boys had to go to 
bed again without any further information. 

" They have gone and forgotten all about it," 
grumbled Hugh. "It 's just like men; they 
don't think a boy worth noticing." 

" It does look as if we are in for a little disap- 
pointment," said Neil; "but there's no way of 
helping it that I sec. We '11 just have to wait and 
be contented with what we have." 

" But I can't be contented, and it 's no use 
trying," cried Hugh. " It does seem too bad for 

" I guess father had made up his mind sound 
and solid before Uncle Charley came," said Neil, 
"and so the matter will be dropped right where 
it is." 

" Why, I thought I could almost feel a gun in 
my hands when Uncle Charley said, ' Suppose we 
sleep over this question,' to papa. I was perfectly 
sure it was all right then ; were n't you, Neil ? " 
rejoined Hugh. 

So two or three days passed by, until at last, 
one morning, Uncle Charley had everything ready 
to go to the prairie to hunt prairie-chickens. 
Then, all of a sudden, he said to Neil, as if the 
thought had just occurred to him : 

" How would you and Hugh like to go along 
with me ? " 

Hugh jumped as if something had stung him, 
and Neil was quite as much surprised. 

" I should like it ever so much," the latter 

" But we have n't any guns," exclaimed 

"Oh, well, you can watch me shoot, and you 
can carry game for me, and help drive the wagon," 
said Uncle Charley, cheerfully. "There'll be 
lots of fun besides shooting." 

Of course, the boys did not need a second invi- 
tation. Half a loaf was much better than no bread 
at all. If they could n't have guns of their own, 
they need not refuse to go and watch Uncle Charley 
shoot. Then, too, the drive out to the prairie and 

a week spent in the open air would be jolly sport. 
Just how much fun two healthy, good-natured 
boys can get out of such an excursion can not 
be exactly measured. There is the sunshine, 
and there is the blue sky, the grass like a green 
sea, the vast fields of corn, the cool wind, the 
freedom — it needs a boy to fully appreciate such 

Neil and Hugh forgot their disappointment in 
the matter of the guns, and jumped right into the 
spirit of the trip to the prairie. 

Two wagons had been made ready ; one, for the 
dogs and camp utensils, which was to be driven 
by a man who was also to serve as cook ; and one 
with springs, for Uncle Charley and the boys. 

5 66 



When they started out of the village, many of their 
young friends looked wistfully after them, as if 
they, too, would like to be in the party. 

Neil and Hugh waved their hats and shouted 
good-bye as the wagons clattered over the graveled 
street past the village store and post-office. They 
were soon out in the open country, in a wide lane 
between green hedges, with fields on either hand, 
and farm-houses showing here and there among 
the orchards. 

It was mid- August and the sun shone fiercely ; 
but a breeze came off the prairie, cool and sweet, 
smelling of stubble and wild grass. 

The horses that drew the wagons were strong, 
well-fed animals, anxious to go; and Uncle Char- 
ley let them trot along briskly, for he, too, was 
chafing with every moment's delay. He had vis- 
ions of large coveys of prairie-chickens in his mind, 
and, with all a Southern sportsman's enthusiasm, 
was longing to loose his dogs and handle his trusty 

Uncle Charley's gun was a breech-loader of the 
finest English make, with beautiful Damascus steel 
barrels, engraved lock-plates, walnut stock and re- 
bounding locks. Hugh took it in his hands, and 
was surprised to find how light it was. 

"Why, this gun would just suit me," he ex- 
claimed, in surprise. "I could handle it without 
any trouble, I 'm sure. How much did it cost 
you, Uncle Charley?" 

" Four hundred dollars," was the answer. 

" Whew ! " whistled Hugh, looking rather wildly 
at Neil. " No wonder papa don't care about buy- 
ing us guns ! It would take eight hundred dollars 
to get us one apiece ! " 

Uncle Charley smiled, all to himself, in a sort of 
mysterious way, as if he were thinking of some- 
thing he did not desire to talk about. 

Meantime, the wagons clattered along the 
smooth road, the horses' feet raising a cloud of 
dust, which shone almost like gold in the early 
morning sunlight. The big wagon that held the 
dogs and camp things was behind, and this cloud 
of dust sometimes nearly hid it from view, the 
man and the dogs looking, through the film, like 
those dim figures some artists put into the back- 
grounds of their sketches. 

As they passed along between the farms — those 
broad, liberal, fertile farms of the West — they 
saw steam threshing-machines puffing away out in 
the fields, in the midst of stacks of wheat and rye, 
where men and boys were working hard in the fly- 
ing chaff and tumbling straw. The corn was in 
silk and tassel, and the meadows of timothy had 
been mowed, the hay-cocks standing thick on the 
greening stubble. They saw meadow-larks flying 
about in the bright sunshine or standing in the 

tufts of clover, their breasts gleaming like polished 

"Why is it against the law to shoot larks 
and robins?" said Hugh ; " I don't see why it 's 
any worse to kill them than it is to kill quails." 

" Why is it worse to kill a horse than it is to kill 
a pig?" inquired Uncle Charley. 

" Because a pig 's good to eat and a horse is n't," 
quickly answered Hugh. 

"Is n't there a better reason?" said Uncle 
Charley; " is n't a horse more useful to us as a 
servant than he would be for food, even if his flesh 
were delicious ? " 

"Certainly," said Hugh. 

"Well, a meadow-lark is a very useful bird to 
the farmer. It eats great numbers of insects, eggs, 
and larvae that would work great harm to wheat, 
corn, and orchards ; then, its flesh is not very good ; 
while a quail eats grain, and its flesh is excellent 
food. Do you see the difference ? " 

" That does seem reasonable," said Hugh; "I 
had n't thought of it in that way. A meadow-lark 
is like a horse, it helps the farmer make his crop 
by destroying bugs and things; and the quail is 
like a pig, it eats corn and wheat and gets fat, to 
be killed and eaten." 

Uncle Charley laughed. 

" I see you apply a theory in a very practical 
sort of way," he remarked. " But the law pro- 
tects all kinds of harmless birds, the flesh of which 
is not profitable for food," he continued, " out of 
fear of the influence that the mere wanton slaughter 
of birds would have upon the morals of the people. 
If a boy is allowed to be cruel as he grows up, he 
is likely to develop into a dangerous man. I think 
there is a great difference between a moderate 
indulgence in field-sports, and the abandonment of 
one's self to the brutal and indiscriminate slaughter 
of birds and animals." 

They had now reached the edge of the open 
prairie. As far as they could see, the land rolled 
away in dull, green billows. The grass was short 
on the swells and tall in the sloughs. Herds of 
cattle were scattered from near at hand to where 
they barely speckled the horizon. 

Uncle Charley gave Neil the lines. 

"You drive slowly along," he said, "while I 
work the dogs over some of this ground." 

Getting out of the wagon, gun in hand and 
cartridge-belt around his waist, he motioned to 
the man to loose the dogs, — two beautiful white and 
brown setters that knew just what he wanted them 
to do. 

Neil drove slowly along over the grass, for they 
had left the road, he and Hugh watching Uncle 
Charley, who was walking briskly after the gallop- 
ing dogs. 


5 6 7 

" Look at Don and Belt ! " cried Hugh. " Did 
you ever see more beautiful dogs ! " 

Don was the larger dog, being tall and strong- 
limbed, while Belt was slender, nervous, and 
active. They ran in parallel lines some thirty 
yards apart, their heads well up and their silky, 
fringed tails waving like banners. 

'" Is n't it jolly ! " exclaimed Neil, as his excite- 
ment overmastered him. " I never saw anything so 
fine ! " 

" If \vc only had guns," said Hugh, leaning over 
the side of the wagon, "how perfectly happy we 
would be ! " 

" Look at Don ! " called the man from the camp- 

The big dog had stopped suddenly with his head 
turned aside and his tail as stiff as a stick. 
Belt stopped too and looked toward Don 

" He knows what he 's about," 
said the man. "There are prai- ~_;7- 
rie-chickens there, sure." 

They saw Uncle Charley be- 
gin to move more cautiously, 
holding his gun in front of 
him. He had not taken many 
steps when, with a great buzz, 
up rose a large flock of birds. g- 

Bang ! bang ! went both 
barrels of Uncle Char- 
ley's gun. The boys .'K'Sl 

spot where the rest of the flock had settled down 
in the grass, and so, motioning the dogs forward, 
he tramped away, reloading his gun as he went. 
Hugh climbed into the wagon again and Neil 
drove on. 

" What is the naturalist's name for prairie-chick- 
en, Neil?" said Hugh, holding up one of the 
birds by its wing. 

"Pinnated grouse, or Tetrao cufiido, is what 
scientific men call the bird," replied Neil, who was 
rather proud of his ornithological knowledge. 

Soon Belt came to a stanch stand and Don 
" backed" him, — as the man in the wagon said, 
— that is, Don pointed because he saw Belt point. 

Neil stopped the wagon to watch Uncle Charley 
" flush," or scare up the birds. 

saw two of the birds tumble down. Hugh yelled 
like a young Indian, and jumping out of the wagon, 
ran to where Uncle Charley stood. Don retrieved 
one bird and Belt the other. 

Neil wished to go and examine the game : but 
the horses were restless, and he could not leave 
them. Hugh brought the birds to the wagon, 
however, so Neil could see what fine, bright- 
feathered young prairie-cocks they were. 

Uncle Charley had marked with his eye the 

(T; h- 


A single grouse rose and flew off to the left, 
giving LIncle Charley a hard chance. He fired 
promptly, first his right-hand barrel, then the left, 
missing with both. 

"Well, well!" cried Hugh; "I could have 
killed that bird myself! " 

Uncle Charley reloaded his gun, and walked 
mi. Another and another bird buzzed up. Bang! 
bang ! — one hit and one miss. The sport now grew 
intensely exciting. The grouse were just enough 
scattered to give the gunner a chance to flush 
them one at a time. When he came back to the 
wagon, he had eight birds, which, with the two 
already there, made ten in all. 

The dogs had their tongues out. and were pant- 
ing vigorously. 
wntinued. ) 

5 68 



Ho was walking on the railroad, and the track he closely scanned, 
With a red hag, neatly folded, and a lantern in hie hand ; 
And, happening to pass him as I journeyed on my way, 
We paused a moment to exchange the greetings of the day. 

"My friend, will you inform me," in an anxious tone he said, 
" If you have seen a broken rail or misplaced switch ahead ? " 
And, when I told him I had not, with wonder in my eye, 
He showed his disappointment by a plaintive little sigh. 

" I 'm a hero by profession," he proceeded to explain, 
"And it 's always been the hebby of my life to save .a train ; 
But, though F ve gone on foot across the continent and back, 
I never yet have found a thing the matter with the track ! . 


5 6 9 

" I Ve a red flag for the day-time and a lantern for the night, 
To wave the very moment that the engine comes in eight ; 
But, in spite of my endeavors, it 's a melancholy fact 
That 1 have n't had a chance yet to perform a noble act ! " 

And, bidding me good-bye, he slowly sauntered up the ties, 
While downward at the shining rails he bent his eager eyes ; 
And now, whene'er in newspapers a hero's name I see, 
I think about my little friend and wonder if it 's he ! 

By Bessie Chandler. 

" What a beautiful plant ! " said little Ned, 
As he touched it with loving care ; 

" I never have seen it, — please tell mo its name. 
And we answered him : " Maiden-hair." 

Ned laughed, as he looked at the pretty fern, 

The name was so funny and new; 
Then said, as he noticed the shiny stems: 
" Why, here are the hair-pins, too ! " 

Vol. XI.— 37. 



I 2. 


By Charles G. Lelaxd. 

Mr. William Wells, in his work on the 
" Games and Songs of American Children." has 
observed that there are some sports which have 
their times and seasons, or which come and go. 
The same may be said of certain smaller arts. One 
of these is hammering cold brass, which has come 
into favor again after being forgotten ; and another 

two and a half or three dollars, some of this being 
very beautiful. Those who want pieces, or less 
than a whole skin, can generally buy them of 
book-binders, or book-binders' furnishers. They 
should pick out the thickest. 

Hard leather should be soaked a long time. 
Well-tanned English leather may be kept in water 

is leather-work. It is true that there have always 
been ladies who, in a small way, made bunches 
of grapes and flowers, and even covered boxes 
with wet leather, producing results the highest aim 
of which was to look almost like wood-carving. 

But leather-work, properly understood, is a 
beautiful art in itself, and makes no effort to 
imitate anything. And it embraces so much and 
is so varied, that one might almost as well attempt 
to tell in a few pages all that can be made with 
wood and how to make it, as with the skins of 
animals. But I can, in this space at least, describe 
what is done by children in the Public Industrial 
Art School of Philadelphia. 

Leather has the property of becoming very soft 
when soaked in water, and growing hard when 
dried. It will become even harder if alum or salt 
be added to the water ; but this is not necessary 
for ordinary work. Now, let us suppose that we 
have an old chair, and would like to cover the 
seat and back. Or it may be a table, or panels 
for a door or a cabinet, or the sides of a portfolio 
or album. Any flat surface whatever may be 
decorated with this flexible and plastic material. 
First, of course, get your leather, as Mrs. Glasse is 
said to have said, but did not say, of the hare in her 
own edition of her cookery. It may be had for 
from twenty-five cents up to eighty cents for a skin ; 
but the kind for ordinary, average work generally 
sells in the cities at retail for from fifty to sixty 
cents. That which is colored costs from one to 

for hours ; the ordinary American sheep-skin, such 
as beginners use, may be wet with a sponge while 
working, and, in fact, need not be put into the 
tub at all. Salt and alum are usually dispensed 
with in simple sheet stamping. When used it 
should be so as to make a strong solution, say a 
tea-spoonful of powder to a pint of water. 

Pupils must not expect — as almost all do — 
to make a perfect work of art at a first attempt. 
There must be some experimenting. The soak- 
ing, for instance, must depend on the thickness of 
the leather. 

Do not choose bright-colored and thin leather. 
It will not take a deep impression, and it will get 
soiled easily. 

For tools, you will want certain small wheels 
set in handles. Two of these can be had at every 
shoe-makers' furnisher's. One is the dot-wheel, 
which is like a very thin dime with a milled edge; 
another is like a thick dime ; and a third is the 
pattern, or prick, wheel, like the spur-rowel. These 
cost twenty-five cents each. They generally have, 
on either side of the wheel, a square "shoulder," 
which should be filed down to keep it from bearing 
into the leather. It is advisable to have one very 
small wheel made, one-third or one-fourth of an 
inch in diameter, and set in a handle. This is 
useful for small curves. What are called flower- 
wheels, or those with ornaments on them, used by 
shoe-makers, are also cheap and useful. In time, 
the pupil will use the large and expensive tooling- 



wheels and other implements of the book-binder. 
But what I am now describing is the cheap and 
easy process once followed in Europe of old, in the 
days when there was mere art and less machinery, 
finish, and expense than at present. 


It may happen, however, that the wheeled tools 
for marking out can not be readily obtained or 
made. In this case, take a smooth-edged tracing- 
tool, or tracer, such as is used for metal work. It 
looks like a large thick nail without a head, but it 
is made of steel, and the point has an edge exactly 
like that of a screw-driver. With a little extra 
pains, all that can be done with the wheel can be 
effected quite as well with this, the object being 
simply to mark smooth and deep lines into the wet 
leather. It is easy to do this with a wheel 
which rolls over the leather and, at the 
same time, presses down ; it is almost as 
easy to run the polished edge of a metal 
tracer along it, but edges of many tools 
of other substances will catch in the fiber 
and pull it. While the wheel is a little 
easier for a beginner to work with and to 
run perfectly even lines, the tracer can be 
used to turn corners and make curves 
which no wheel can describe. 

It is, therefore, advisable that every leath- 
er-worker should not only have a tracer, but prac- 
tice with it on waste leather until he or she can, at 
will, mark out a pattern as easily as with a pen or 
pencil. This tool should cost from twenty to thirty 

The next tools needed are the stamps, corre- 
sponding exactly to the mats used to indent, or 

what with a penknife. A very important tool is a 
flexible ivory or horn paper-knife ; or, better still, 
and indeed far better, a peculiar paper-knife made 
of india rubber, round at one end and pointed at 
the other, which may be found in a few shops for 
ten cents. The use of the flat blade 
is to smooth out mistakes in the wet 
leather. With the edge of a very 
smooth knife, a pattern maybe marked 
out almost as well as with a wheel. It 
is possible, therefore, for a really ingenious and 
skillful worker to make a piece of leather-work with 
only a paper-knife and a stick notched across the 
ends ; and there is in our school a really well-exe- 
cuted panel made with nothing else. 

Having these, you may begin work. Draw your 
pattern on any kind of paper. Take the leather 
and soak it, then cut it to the size required and 
stretch it on a board. A bread-board, costing 
from thirty to fifty cents, made in three pieces of 


greenish-yellow-colored poplar, is the least liable of 
all to warp. If you use any other board, it must 
have pieces nailed to the back. Poplar resists 
water. Tack the leather on the edges, but do not 
stretch it too tightly. If it were tight like a drum, it 
would draw the pattern out. Lay the paper on the 
wet leather, after wiping the latter dry with a 
roughen and depress, the background in repousse towel, and then go over it with the prick-wheel, 
or sheet-metal work. These, however, are rougher just hard enough to prick through the paper, 
or deeper, so that when pressed on wet leather but not through the leather. Remove the paper 


they make a mark, or surface, like that of morocco, and the design will be found dotted in the skin. 

An ingenious person can cut a stamp out of any Now take the wheel with a smooth edge like a 

piece of hard wood. A very good one is some- dime, or the tracer, and tool all the pattern. This 

times made, as for modeling in clay, by breaking is exactly like outlining in repousse. Then, with a 

a pine stick in two and leveling the points some- stamp and hammer, indent all the ground. You 




may finish by going over the outline with a dot- 
wheel, or else with the smooth-wheel, or tracer, 
bearing on very strongly. 

When it is dry you may, with good black ink, or 
any dye which accords with the leather, paint the 
pattern all over. If it is to 
be merely blackened 
simplest method 
over the whole i 
onizing varnish, 
is, when dry, 
flexible, and does 
crack or peel off. 
can be used by i 
on the leather ; : 
in that case, t 
color will be of 
very deep ricl 
brown. Leath- 
er, to be used 
for portieres, 
han gings, 
and door- 
panels, may 
be treated 

in this way with all dyes, or painted, as was once 
very common. I have an old German book, the 
cover of which has been thus colored and varnished. 

When finished, the outline may be gilt in the 


go over it all again. The result will be that the 
gold will all be in lines of dots. 

Another way to stamp the leather is to take a 
panel of wood, and with gouges carve on it a sunken, 
or incised, pattern. This is easier to do, with a few 
hours' practice, than one 
would suppose. Then, 
dry sponge and 
lgers, carefully 
the wet leather 
into the mold, 
n dry, it may be 
;rved up plain " 
colored and gild- 
1. With a single 
nold you may 
print off as many 
impressions as 
you may need. 
Tack them 
on seasoned 
panels. They 
may be used 
for decorat- 
ing walls, 
doors, furniture, or, indeed, any plain surface. 

Another way to make these sheets is to have 
two molds cast in plaster of Paris, one in intaglio, or 
sunken, the other in relief, exactly fitting it. They 


ordinary way with leaf or, if this be beyond the must be perfectly dried, and then oiled and dried 

artist's power, by taking any good gold ink and, by gentle heat more than once. The wet leather 

with a very finely pointed small brush, painting is laid between them. In most cases the upper 

in all the outlines. Then take the dot-wheel and mold, in relief, may be dispensed with. 



The thicker the leather is, the deeper the relief 
may be. In this, as in all the minor arts, it is, of 
course, advisable to " finish off" as neatly as pos- 
sible ; but it is far more important to have good 
designs and show the free and confident touch 
of an artist. The very great majority of people 
prefer more finish, as in machine-made work, 
to autographic or, as I may say, autochiric touch, 
which is that which shows the hand of the worker. 
In the great ages of art, when it was shown in 
everything, elegant design and autochirism, or the 

to detect any joining, particularly if the edge be 
gilt. As regards wetting down, I may observe 
that, if possible, the whole pattern should be 
worked off at one sitting, or while the leather is 
wet. But if this can not be done, then keep a 
clean sponge and a small basin of clean water 
by you, and dampen the leather as you work. 

Every book-binder has waste pieces of colored 
leather which may be used for mosaic. The 
smallest bits may be used for leaves, ornaments, 
or portions of work, since, when pasted on, the 

evidence of the hand itself, were most prized. To 
work well, it is not necessary to have many and 
expensive tools and costly material ; but to do the 
best you can with what you have. 

There is another kind of sheet-leather work 
called mosaic, or applique. This consists in cut- 
ting out patterns of thin, colored leather, and 
pasting or gumming them on the ground. Then, 
the ground and pattern at the edge being slightly 
wet, the edge is to be tooled down into the leather 
with the wheel, which has an edge like a dime. If 
this is done with great care, it will be impossible 

seams hardly show, and in large work, as for door- 
panels, this is of no consequence. If you intend 
to produce duplicate work, it will be often worth 
while to have some ornamental patterns cut out 
of tin or sheet-brass. You can then, with scissors 
or penknife, cut them out by the stencil. It is 
not difficult to learn to design patterns. I have 
known many young ladies to insist that they could 
never learn to do so, who, in a few weeks, suc- 
ceeded in producing very elegant and original 
ornaments. Any child of ten or twelve years can 
soon be taught to combine certain ornaments, so 




as to make borders or frames, and then to con- 
struct these ornaments on curves. I knew one 
who, after insisting that she could never learn to 
design, was induced to try. Between the first of 
November and the end of May, she not only learned 
to design and draw, but also to carve oak panels and 
work in leather. The first thing she designed and 
executed in leather was a beautiful box in mosaic. 

To make such a box, get it first in pine, cherry, 
or poplar, and then cover it neatly with paper, 
pasted all over. Then work the leather as I have 
explained, and paste it on with book-binder's 
paste. This is made by boiling flour and water, 
adding a table-spoonful of powdered alum to a cup- 
ful of paste, and stirring it constantly while boil- 
ing. It will be better to use it about twenty-four 
hours after boiling. Stir it once or twice every 
day. A little thin liquid-glue well mixed in will 
give it greater strength. 

To work leather in relief, or to make vases, fig- 
ures, and similar ornaments, is much more diffi- 
cult than on the flat sheet. Those who have, 
however, learned the former will find little difficulty 

with the latter. For descriptions of these more 
advanced processes, I refer the reader to a little 
Manual of Leather-work, written by me and pub- 
lished by the Art Interchange Company, 140 Nas- 
sau street, New York; price 35 cents, by mail. It 
should be borne in mind that any kind of pattern 
for any work may be adapted to leather. It has a 
great deal in common with repousse and panel 
wood-carving. In both, the object is to bring out 
a pattern on a plane surface in relief, and to indent 
the background. In conclusion, let me say that, 
of all the minor arts, leather-work is perhaps the 
easiest, and requires in proportion to its results the 
least outlay. With a tracer, a stamp, a hammer 
and a piece of leather, all costing together not 
more than a dollar, one can make the cover for a 
chair seat or back, which ought to be worth at least 
twice as much. No one should, however, begin by 
attempting to make a finished and elegant piece 
of work at the first effort, as I am sorry to say too 
many amateurs do. There should be in leather, 
as in brass-work, much preliminary practice in 
running lines, until a perfect command of the 
tracer or, in leather, the wheel is attained. 



We call him "H'y" for short. He is a year and a half old. He can 
run all around the house. We think he is a won-der-ful boy. He says 
very fun-ny things, and some very big words. " H'y's " mamma showed 
him the inside of the tall clock, and told him about the pen-du-lum. 
One day his papa showed him the inside of his watch, and when he 
saw the little wheel go back and forth he cried out: "Oh, papa! papa! 
pen-du-lum ! " 

Then, too, he saw Teddie riding on his bi-cy-cle, one morning. A 
few days later, "H'y" was playing with his blocks. He knew O and T, 
and he called H "baby's letter," because his name begins with H; but 
he had not learned Q. His mamma sat in an arm-chair near him, and 
she saw him looking for a long time at the block that had Q on it. 
At last she said: "What is it, 'H'y?'" 

"H'y" looked up and laughed, and said: — "Bi-cy-cle!" 




When* you search the starry skies, 
The Twins you will not find ; 

For they 're racing with the Sun, 
Or hanging on behind. 





























































H. M. 


Holidays and Incidents. 

May Day. 

C, near Mars. 

Thomas Hood, died 1845. 

3d Sunday after Easter, 

Nap. Bonaparte, d. 1821. 

C near Spica. 

4th Sunday after Easter. 

Maria Theresa, b. 1717. 

([ very close to bright star. 

Edward Jenner, b. 1749. 
Rogation Sunday. 
Nat. Hawthorne, d. 1864. 
Columbus, d. 1506. 

Ascension Day. 

Queen Victoria, b. 1819. 
Sunday after Ascension. 

(I near Venus. 
([ near Jupiter, [eraldays. 
Venus near Twins for sev- 
Decoration Day. (1 near 

Sport for the Month. 

It's the very time and season, 
For the merry bounding ball; 

Toss it, bat it, kick it, pat it, 
AH you boys, with whoop and call. 

Evening Skies for Young Astronomers. 

(See Introduction, page 255, St. Nicholas for January.)* 

May 15th, 8.30 p.m. 

VenL's is now a lovely object in the west; on the 4th of 
June she will be at her brightest. She has left the constel- 
lation of Tlie Bull, and is now in Gemini, or The Twins, and 
not far from Castor and Pollux. Saturn has set : he is so 
near the Sun that he is not noticeable even after the Sun 
has gone down. Mars is near Reguhis in the pouth-west, 
but has lost the brightness that made him so conspicuous in 
February. Vou will know him by his red color. Jt'PlTER 
now occupies the very spot he covered in January, near Cas- 
tor and Pollux. Reguhis, the star of Leo, is now more than 
two hours to the west of our south mark. Spica in Virgo is 
one hour to the east of it, and will be due south at a quarter to 
ten o'clock. Exactly in the south, rather low down, we can 
see a group of four quite conspicuous stars, forming a four- 
sided figure. These are in the constellation of Corvus, or 
The Crow. Arcturus is now very high up in the south-east. 

We can now take another step in tracing the course of the 
Sun among the stars. Remembering that on the 20th ot 
August he is exactly where we now see Regulus, we can 
trace his path to the 15th of October, when he will be very 
near, but a little higher than, Spica, the star of The Virgin. 
Remember, also, how high up we looked in January to bis 
summer course between Taunts and Gemini, and now notice 
how much lower in the sky Spica is. But we shall trace him 
to his winter quarters still lower. 


" I 'M Queen of the May ! " said a proud Cherry-tree, who was arrayed in bridal white. " I 'm the first 

comer, and have left all my sisters far behind me.' 1 

" You may be Queen," said "Jack Frost," as he gave her a sharp nip, " but T am still King." 

" Well ! " said the Cherry-tree, as she viewed with dismay the withered remains of her bridal veil, " this 

is the first time I ever took Time by the forelock, and I wish I had given him a good pull for getting me 

into such a scrape. I shall have to call all my blossoms in, and begin over again. Another time I will 

remember that 'Haste makes Waste.'" 

'The names of planets arc printed in capitals, — those of constellations in italics. 



Foi^ Boys and Gii^ls. 




" Good-bye, April ! " cried May's pretty voice, as she came dancing in with a great bunch of flowers in her 
hand, " I've such a lovely white wreath for the May Queen, and all sorts of bright, sweet things for you, 
Mother Nature. Everything looks beautiful — the brooks are all in tune, and your garden is fairly beginning 
to smile. 

''Yes, my pretty May," said Dame Nature, "I'm right glad to see you back again to help me with it. 
This is a busy time with me, you know ; but I feel quite light-hearted the minute 1 catch the first waft of 
fragrance that announces your coming, my pretty Blossom Queen. I wish you 'd give your attention to the 
dandelions ; for some reason, they are lazy this year. Stir them up a bit ; they wont bite, you know. The 
blossoms are all waiting for your smile, and there 's plenty of dainty work for you to do, my dear." 

" Well," said May, " I '11 do my best ; but what with May Day at one end of my visit, and Decoration Day 
at the other, I 've been hard worked of late years, and don't feel quite so gay as I once did. Is it possible 
that I 'm getting old ? " And, peeping into a brook to see, pretty May tossed her head at the lovely image 
she saw there, until the flowers came showering down from her hair, and then she laughed softly to herself, — 
a happy laugh in which one could hear the trill of the robin and the bluebird. 


Blossoms on the tree-tops, 

Blossoms in the hedges, 
Blossoms by the way-side, 

Blossoms in the sedges ; 
Blossoms of the cherry, 

Blossoms of the peach, 
Blossoms of the apple, 

Falling each by each. 

In the fragrant shower, 

I stand beneath the trees, 
While all about me bloweth 

The balmy, soft May breeze. 
Winter is forgotten. 

Gentle Spring is here. 
And the lovely Summer 

Now is drawing near. 





MAKE your best bows and curtseys to the Lady 
May, my beloved. Here she comes, tripping to 
the song of birds, her green robes floating about 
her as she sprinkles the woods with flowers, festoons 
the fruit-trees with blossoms, and touches up the 
early gardens here and there. Heaven bless her ! 
dear, sweet, happy Lady May — the darling of 
the year ! 

Now let me ask you, one and all, this question : 


Did ever you count the flowers in a common 
field daisy? It would be a difficult task, but not 
an impossible one. Last season, I loved to watch 
a group of fine, white, yellow-centered daisies, 
nodding near my pulpit; and I was surprised to 
see how many flowers each of them carried. If 
now or later in the season you have courage to 
look a daisy in the face and ask it how many flowers 
it has, you, too, may be astonished at the reply. 

Now, who can read me this botanical riddle ? 

These dear little beauties, known as marguer- 
ites in some quarters, are not to be found in our 
bleak Northern fields just yet ; but I 'm told that 
they are raised in many sunny homes, and also 
that men grow them in hot-houses and sell them 
for a few cents a bunch. 

will come upon a something that may help you to 
enjoy this bonnie song : 

Oh ! sing wi' me, little birdies flitt'n thro' the air ! 

An' ye jolly win's hummin' owre the glens an' the braes! 
Jimp wi' me, kittlins, while I 'm jimpin' ev'rywhere, 

For the cranreuch has bro't me some braw new claes ! 

I ha'e a dainty bonnet, full o' ribbans an' a feather, — 
Some stripit-sheld stockins, an' siller-buckled shoon. 

An' a soft bright plaidie, a' fixit up thegether 

Wi' braid, an' wi' buttons roun', an' sheeny as the moon. 

An' soon the bonnie snaw will be heapit owre the groun' ; 

An' the worl' will be a ringin' wi' the skates an' the sleighs ; 
An' I shall gae sklentin' an' scrievin' up an' down. 

As happy as a robbin i' my braw new claes. 

* Wee, little, — bairns, children, ist stanza: Braiu, fine, hand- 
some, — claes, clothes, — iui' t with, — _flitt'?t, flitting, — thro , through, 
— an' , and, — win's, winds, — hummm ', humming, — oivre, over, — 
braes, declivities, precipices, the slopes of bills, — jit/tp, jump, — kit- 
tlins, kittens, — cranreuch, hoarfrost, white frost, — bro't, brought. 

2d stanza: Ha'e, have, — o', of, — ribhans, ribbons, — stupit-slzeld, 
striped and speckled, — siller-buckled shoon, silver-buckled shoes, — 
plaidie, a plaid, a loose outer garment, — a', all, — fixit-. fixed, — the- 
gether, together, — roun' , round, — sheeny, shiny. 

3d stanza : Bonnie snaw, pretty snow, — heapit oivrc the groun' , 
heaped over the ground, — ivorV , world, — gae, go, — sklentin , 
sklenting, running aslant, — scrieve, to glide swiftly along, — z", in. 


My birds bring me wonderful accounts of affairs 
in plant life, but nothing that surprises me more 
than the actions of the Artillery Fern, as described 
by the dear Little School-ma'am, who, it appears, 
has found an account of one of the plants in a 
newspaper. Have any of my chicks ever seen one 
of these ferns fire itself off? 

This is what the newspaper says of it : 

— The artillery fern, or flower, as it is sometimes called, is a 
curious and beautiful plant which is not very generally known out- 
side of rare collections or of florist's greenhouses. It acquires its 
singular name from the military and explosive fashion with which it 
resists the action of water upon it. If a branch of the fern, covered 
with its small red seed, be dipped in water and then held up to the 
light, there soon will occur a strange phenomenon. First one bud 
will explode with a sharp little crack, thowing into the air its pollen 
in the shape of a small cloud of yellow dust. This will be followed 
by another, and another, until very soon the entire fern-like branch 
will be seen discharging these miniature volleys with their tiny 
puffs of smoke. This occurs whenever the plant is watered, and the 
effect of the entire fern in this condition of rebellion is very curious as 
well as beautiful. As the buds thus open, they assume the shape 
of a miniature Geneva cross too small to the naked eye to attract 
much attention, but under a magnifying glass they are seen to 
possess a rare and delicate beauty. 


HERE is a true story from a respected corre- 
spondent, which quite surpasses Mother Goose's 
fanciful account of the mouse that ran up the 
clock and then ran down again : 


A GOOD friend of yours, L. A. W. Shackelford, 
sends this pretty rhyme, which all my Scotch 
hearers will enjoy at first hearing, though some o' 
my wee American bairns may not ken the meanin' 
0' its odd words. Ah, well ! the dear Little School- 
ma'am will help them, as she always is ready to do. 

Find the mate to this little star,* my chicks (or, 
perhaps I should say, my little eaglets, as I am 
addressing Young Americans especially), and you 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Some weeks ago, a certain piano 
was very carelessly left open for a whole day and two nights, while 
the responsible members of the family were out of the houee. A 
lady visitor, on the evening before she intended to depart, left upon 
the open piano a ball of red worsted, and the stripe of an Afghan, 
which she was making. When she returned, forty-eight hours 
afterward, and entered the parlorwith several members of the family, 
the sight that greeted them was astounding. 

A large hole, and several smaller ones, had been made in the piano 
cover — the ball of worsted was half gone, and the Afghan stripe 
was a complete wreck ! This was very mysterious. " Could it have 
been rats? A mouse could scarcely make off with so much," said 
one and all. 

A few days later a large rat was caught. Here, it was thought, 



5 79 

■was the solution of the mystery. But more was to follow. The 
owner of the Afghan came again to the house, the family being again 
away, and the piano closed, as indeed it was for some time later. 
That very night the mysterious thief came again ! On the wall hung 
a painted satin banner, with half a dozen yellow silk balls hanging at 
the bottom. These disappeared. The cords were gnawed through, 
and the balls carried off! What could it all mean ? Days afterward 
■came the true solution of the mystery. An unpleasant odor began 
to issue from the piano. " Mice ! " exclaimed everybody, and sig- 
nificant looks were exchanged. As soon as possible, the key-board 
of the piano was taken out, and a long piece of hooked wire thrust 
into the corner from which the odor proceeded. Presently was 
drawn out a little bunch of red worsted ; then a little more; and 
now a whole nest — a nest made of red worsted and soft yellow 
silk (no child had stolen those balls, after all), and in it were live 
tiny dead mice ! 

After a little more poking, out ran a line large wood-mouse, with 
her one surviving young one in her mouth. She was struck at, and 
being forced to drop the little one, ran back. But finally she vent- 
ured out again, and was caught. 

And what do you suppose made her select those balls above every 
other article in the room ? To obtain them, she must have run right 
up the wall, which, fortunately fur her, was of rough plaster. But 
■this she certainly did ; for, behind a large picture on the wall, over the 
piano, was found the rest of the worsted and silk, where the nest 
■evidently had been first begun, and then abandoned. 

Some people may consider this almost too strange a mouse-story 
to be believed, but it is strictly true in every particular. 

From one of your most faithful readers, H. 


OUR friend, Mr. C. F. Holder, sends us another 
queer story, with a picture showing a pretty ''see- 
saw ' ' : 

Dear Jack : In strolling through the woods I have often observed 
insects and various animals engaged in games and sports that did 
not differ greatly from some of those which children play. Once I saw 
two ants who were having a mock battle ; another lime two bugs were 
detected in a veritable game of tag, hiding behind twigs and leaves, 
and then darting out and away. Prof. Lockwood once observed a 
solemn toad at play; it was standing on its hind legs, holding in its 
mouth a twig exactly as if it were trying to play the flute. 

With this I send you a picture showing a game of see-saw, which, 
though probably accidental, really occurred. A toad-stool that grew 
in a damp spot beside the walk, formed the rest, and across it had 
blown a spear of hay or grass, so that it almost balanced. While 
the spear was thus balanced, a butterfly came sailing along, and see- 
ing the inviting roost, alighted for a moments rest. But a moment 
later a comical green grasshopper, with two long waving whiskers, 
was seen to light upon the other end of the see-saw, just bearing it 
down, and, as he advanced up the spear, he was in turn raised into 
the air by the butterfly. In this way, for a moment or so, a regular 
tilt was had; but the butterfly, becoming alarmed at the approach 
of its curious neighbor, soon flew away, and up went its end of the 
see-saw, throwing the grasshopper sprawling into the air, and effect- 
ually breaking up the game. 



5 So 




3 Plowden Buildings, Temple, London, Feb. 2d, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Just a little letter to tell you 1 like you very 
much; I have taken you since 1881, and I have you bound every 
year. My papa buys you for me each month, because I work hard 
at my studies. Bessie L. wants to know how to use her Christmas 
cards; she can make a very pretty folding door-screen about 5 feet 
high; if the canvas is- painted black and varnished, the cards look 
very well upon it. She can also make fans, and tables for the draw- 
ing-room which look very pretty. I am eleven years of age. and 
when I am twelve, Mamma wants me to make her a screen for her 
dining-room with my Christmas and birthday cards. I have seen 
some, and they look very pretty. I hope you will publish this letter 
from your little English friend, Florrie B. 

me ; she has been with me nearly four years ; she goes to school with 
me ; we are in the same class. I must close now, for I am afraid 
this letter will be too long to be printed. 

Your little friend, Laura C. R. 

Dear St. Nicholas: 1 am a little Baltimore boy, whose papa 
has read St. Nicholas to him for four years. I have a puzzle for 
other little boys to guess. I was born on the 5th of December, 1871, 
and I have had two more birthdays than my dear mamma. Can 
any of your readers tell me how old mamma is? 

Yours truly, E. S. T. 

Baltimore, Feb. 9, 18S4. 

New York City, March 3d, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am very much interested in "The Land 
of Fire," by Captain Reid, and also in the " Spinning-wheel 
Stories." I like all Miss Alcott's works, and I hope she will write 
a good many stories for this book. I have taken you for three or 
four years, and I like you very much better than any other maga- 
zine I have ever read. I am so sorry " Girl-Noblesse " is to be con- 
cluded in the next number. I like it very much. 

Your constant reader, Josie V. 

A HAUGHTY young contributor sends us these two sketches, which 
he calls a " ' respectful perversion ' of three lines from ' Mary and Her 
Little Lamb '" : 

Miss Alcott will contribute a 
number of St. Nicholas for iSi 

Spinning-Whecl " story to each 

114 Warren Ave. 

Mv Dear St. Nicholas: Your jolly good magazine for March 
has come, and we enjoy it very much. My little sister, five years 
old, is singing around the house about " The Amiable Ape who Lived 
on the African Cape." 

I go to school where there are twenty-four hundred (2400) children, 
but there are only sixty in our room, so we don't realize that there 
are so many in the school. 

I am eight years old, and Mamma is writing for me because I make 
such a mess when I write, as I do to my Grandma, who is the dearest, 
sweetest Grandma in the world. 

Please give my love to Miss Louisa Alcott and the " Amiable 
Ape" lady. Your little friend, N. Clinton T. 

Hartford, Conn., March 3d, 1S84. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I write you this letter to-day, in hopes 
it will be in the " Letter-Box " in a little while. It is the first one I 
ever wrote, but I have thought of doing it many times. I have 
taken the St. Nicholas four years, and so has a little girl that lives 
across the street from me. We have nice times together in the sum- 
mer, and often take our St. Nicholases out and read them under 
the trees. I am very much pleased with the St Nicholas. I 
must not make my letter any longer, although I would like to. 

Your loving reader, Mabel B. D. 

Harper's Ferry, W. Va., February 29th. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I live in Harper's Ferry. I don't know 
but one little girl here, so I am always glad to get you every month. 
I think you are the nicest book I ever saw. I have no sisters, only 
three brothers. I am ten years old. I certainly did like that story 
in the March number called " Wong Ning's Ideas " ; it was so funny. 
VVe have beautiful scenery here ; there are mountains r.ll around us, 
and John Brown's Fort is here, too. I spend the summer out in the 
country at my aunt's; in the winter I stay at home. We have a 
governess to teach us. We look forward with great pleasure to your 
coming every month. Your constant reader, 

Anna Love R. 

1. "And everywhere that Mary went 
The lamb was sure to go." 

2. "And so the teacher put him out" 

Germantown, Colusa Co., Cal., February 1, 1884. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Our public school has been taking you 
just a month; we all enjoy reading the nice stories and letters in 
you. In our school there are thirty-six scholars ; we have a nice 
large play-ground, and we play different games at recesses. I live 
two miles from our school. 

Wc have had a great deal of rain, and it snowed very hard in the 
Coast Range and the Sierra Nevada Mountains; it is a perfectly 
beautiful sight in the morning to see the clear blue mountains 
covered with snow- 

I have no sisters nor brothers, so I have a little friend staying with 

Here comes another young contributor - 
vith a little novelette: 

Almeda H. Curtis — 

The Little Girl who Did Not Mind Picking over the 

Gracie Hall was eleven years old. She was a real nice little girl, 
only she did love raisins. Now, you want to know what that 
had to do with her being a nice little girl; well, I will tell you. 

Her mamma was making a cake for her to take to a surprise 
parly the next day, and Gracie was reading a very interesting 



story-book she got last Christmas. "Gracie, want to pick over 
some raisins for mamma, like a goad little girl?" " I don't mind," 
said Gracie. When she was through, she handed them to her 
mamma to put in the cake. " Are these all there are," said 
mamma. "Yes, ma'am," said Gracie. "Did you eat any of them, 
Gracie?" " Only a few, Mamma; only a few." "How often did 
you eat them?" Gracie said: "I ate only one out of every five." 
Mamma said no more; but when she asked Gracie to pick over 
raisins after that, Gracie did not say, "I don't mind," but did 
them without saying anything. 



And here is a juvenile bard who sends us some rhymes about 

The Swallow and Her Nest. 

The rain is gone, the sun shines here, 

Fields of green grass do now appear, 

But some small part is still brown and sere. 

The swallow, from her nest in the wall, 
Doth tweet and chirp and say to all, 
"This is my nest, look here, look here, 
But you must not touch the eggs you see, 
For they are my pride and property." 

Four slender eggs : all which are spatted, 
Partly with brown specks — they all are dotted. 

The swallow is a bird that is ever on the wing, 
And, like all happy birds, they sometimes sing; 

But not on the ground, far that is not their way, 
Though they do, more or less, I have heard people say. 

Their nest is made up of mud or clay, 
And they add to it faithfully day by day; 
They carry earth and grass all the day long, 
And don't get tired of their work or song. 

\V. II. J. 

We fear that W. B. J. got a little tired of his song toward the 
end of it. 

Cheboygan, Mich., February 14th, 1884. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : t am a little girl twelve years old, and 
I have taken St. Nicholas for four years ; I love it very much. 
My mamma died last Spring, so my aunty keeps house far us. I have 
a very dear teacher that comes to our house to teach us, and I love 
her very much. I have a little brother and sister. Arthur is nine 
and Efiie is six years old. You remember the Fan Brigade in St. 
Nicholas two or three years ago; we had it last fall with the 
operetta of Red Riding Hood. It was very nice, and we made 
about one hundred dollars. I have a pet pony whose name is Daisy. 
She is jet black. I taught her to canter. In the summer I ride her 
very often. I have a side-saddle, and a riding-habit which a very dear 
friend made for me. I wish you would print this letter, as it is the 
first one I have written. Your little friend, Mina H. 

Very gratifying is it to report a larger number of new Chapters 
this month than in any previous month in the history of the "A. A." 
There has been, on an average, one new Chapter every day but 
Sundays. Why should we not have a branch in evcrv city and 
village in the United States ? All are invited, young and old. 

Prof. G. Howard Parker's report on the class in Entomology is 
given this month, and further particulars regarding the general 
meeting in Nashua next September. 

It has been decided to print a new edition of the hand-book, in 
cloth ; but it can hardly be ready before June, and we defer any 
description of it for the present. 

The following kind letter will delight our young bird-students: 

Dear Sir: I shall be happy lo 
ability, in ornithological matters. 

Truly yours, Arthi 

id the " A. A., 11 to the best of my 


ii Buckingham St., 

Cambridge, Mass. 

New Chapters. 

No. Name. No. 0/ Mt 

575 Spencer, Mass. (A) 6. 

576 Hadley, Mass. (A) 6. 

577 Rochester, N. Y. (C) 13. 

578 Osceola, Iowa (A) 8. 

579 Roxbury, N. Y. (A) iS. 

5S0 So. Boston. Mass. (C) 5. 

581 Urbana, Ohio (B) 7. 

582 Germantown, Pa. (E) 4. 

583 Chicago, 111. (R) 6. 

5S4 Colorado Springs, Col. (A). 4. 

585 Buffalo, N. Y. (I) 6. 

586 Lowell, Mass. <C) 6 

587 Concord, N. H. (A) 4 . 

588 Chicago, III. (S) S. 

589 Cleveland, Ohio (B) 90. 

590 Pomfret Centre, Conn. (A). 4. 

591 Tioga, Tioga Co., Pa. (A). 6. 

592 New York, N. Y. (P) 4. 

593 Brookline, Mass. (A) 6. 

594 No. Granville, N. Y. (A).. 6. 

595 Oneonta, N. Y. (A) 4 . 

596 Chicago, 111. (T) 5 . 

597 Lawrence, Kansas <B) 5. 

598 St. George's Hall (A) 17, 

599 Bethlehem, Pa. (B) 4 . 

600 Galveston, Texas (A) ...... 5. 

mbers. A ddress. 

. Miss May Ladd. 

.Miss Mary A. Cook. 

. Lharles Boswell. 

. Harlan Richards. 

.Henry G. Cartwright. 

. F. M. Spalding, 777 B'dway. 

.Edward Stockslager. 
Miss Ada M. Wheeler, 127 
W. Pa. St. 

. G. E. Hale, no Drexel Ave. 

.Mrs. E. B. McMorris. 

.Francis M. Moody, 187 North 
Pearl St. 

. H. C. Raynes, 36 Lawrence St. 

.Miss Lunette E. Lamprev. 

. W. A. Wilkins, 41 Aldine Sq. 

.H. Bert Crow!, 501 Franklin 

.Mrs. S. O. Marsh. 

. Miss Winnie Smith. 

. C. A. Elsberg, 1101 Lexing- 
ton Ave. 

.Geo. L. Briggs. 

.James E. Rice. 

. Miss Jessie E. Jenks. 

. Byron W. Peck, 334 E. 

.Albert Garrett. 

.Mrs. Mary B. Kinear, Reister- 
town P. O., Maryland. 

.Eric Doolittle. 

.Philip C. Tucker, Jr. 


Leonard Sparrow, Emma H., Grace M. Hall, Alice M. H., May 
A., Willie D. Sanders, Cora Hascltine, Katy Sage, P. E., J. Allen 
Montgomery, L. B., Maiy Halvern, Ettie Cohen, Mabel M. Reed. 
Corena L. Abbott, J. Edward Giffbrd, Alonzo L.Ware, Ella S. Gould, 
H. L. Smith, Annie Ward, Gwennie Ward, Mabel G. Thelwall, 
Margaret G. Anderson, E. J. S., Nellie S. T. W., Nina B. and 
Elaine M., Annah E. Jacobs, Archie V. Thomson, Mabel Kellogg, 
F. S. Arnold, Wynford K. Steele, Albert Pearson, George H. Pal- 
mer, George Pulaski, Bessie Rhodes, Miss Katie C. Chamberlain, 
Florence Montgomery, Mary E. Evans, Edna S. Rockwell, Lizzie 
Baker, Bertha T., A Friend, Flora Derwent, Florence H., Marian 
Pyott, Annie A. C, Moina M. Sandford, Bessie MacDougal, Mabel 
Cholwell-MiUer, Lillie H., Agnes Thome, A. L. T. , C. A. Elsberg, 
Bessie R., Grace H., Lulu Lindsay, Marion Bush, B. B. P., Willie 
Thomas, Maude O., Edith C, Irene Hanson, Aubrey G. Maguire, 
F. H., Guendoline O'Brien, Gustavus Pauls, Ed. V. Shipscy, 
Edward S. Wilson, George Bullard, Mabel Palmer, Bentra M. 
Shelley, Edgar S. Banta, Margaret W. Leighton : We must thank 
you all, dear boys and girls, for your hearty letters, and say how- 
much we should like to print every one of them : but there is not 
room for even the briefest. 

Birch bark, magnetic sand, gypsum, pressed ferns, and autumn 
leaves, for sea-sheils, foreign coins, and ores. — Harvey Sawyer, 
Ludington, Mich. 

2000 silk-worms, for Polyphemus cocoons.— Florence Maynard, 
Northampton. Mass. 

Minerals and eggs, for eggs and skins. — Geo. H. Lorimer, 2246 
Michigan Ave., Chicago, HI. 

.Minerals, insects, and cocoons, for birds' skins, eggs, insect?, and 
cocoons. — Carleton Gilbert, 116 Wildwoad Ave,, Jackson, Mich. 

Correspondence with distant chapters wanted by Frank H. Foote, 
Keene, N. H. 

Gypsum, chalcedony, meteorite, and mica, for fossils and rare 
minerals. — Frank U. jay, 2510 Indiana Ave., Chicago, 111. 

Pacific shells and sea-weeds, for ocean curiosities, and corre- 
spondence with Texas chapters wished for by H. C. Howe, of 
Fulton, N. Y. 

Rare butterflies, for New England butterflies. — Chas. C. Beale, 
Faulkner, Mass. 

Fossils and minerals, for fossils. Correspondence wanted in everv 
State, with reference to exchanging. — E. P. Boynton, Third Ave 
and 5th St., Cedar Rapids, Iowa. 

Feldspar, mica rock, eggs, and cocoons, for cocoons. — Percival C. 
Pyle, Wilmington, Del. 

Lepidoptera. — Jas. P. Curtiss. 57 Seward Ave., Auburn, N. Y. 

I can not furnish any more trilobites for exchange. — Wm. E. Loy, 
Eaton, Ohio. 



Minerals for exchange, and correspondence. — E. Y. Gibson, 723 
Washington Ave., Jackson. Mich. 

Retinite, pink, yellow, and white, calcite, malachite, specularite, 
serpentine, auriferous iron, pyrites, and others, for either lepid — 
coleo — or hymenoptera. — E. R. Larned, 2546 S. Dearborn St., 
Chicago, 111. 

Zeolite, stilobite, heulandite, feldspar, etc., for cinnabar and 
other minerals. — Franklin Bache, 123 Price St., Germanlown, 
Phila., Pa. 

Large amount of natural history material, and many consecutive 
numbers of Applcton's Journal (weekly), for works of Agassiz, 
Mivart, Darwin, and Huxley, upon Evolution. — W. R. Lighton, 
Ottumwa, Iowa. 

Craw-fish, orange-blossoms, Mississippi sand in bottles, for bird- 
skins, ocean shells, and star-fish. — Percy L. Benedict, 1243 Great 
Charles St., New Orleans, La. 

Report of Class in Entomology. 

Cambridge, Mass., Feb. 16th, 1884. 
< >f the twenty members of the Entomological Class, five have 
completed the full number of papers with credit, and are therefore 
entitled to full honors. They are : 

Bashford Dean, New York City, N. Y, 
Helen Montgomery, Wakefield, Mass. 
Mrs. Rachel H. Mellon, Pittsburg, Pa. 
Daisy G. Dame, West Medford, Mass. 
Isabel G. Dame, West Medford, Mass. 

Of the remainder who have passed with credit on a part of the 
assigned subjects, are : 

H. A. Stewart, Gettysburg, Pa., in Hemiptera, Neuroptera, 
Diptera, Cokoptera, and insects in general. 

Alonzo H. Stewart, Washington, D. C. — Lepidoptera and 

Fred Clearwater, Brazil, Ind. — Eepidoptera. 

George J. Grider, Bethlehem, Pa. — Lepidnptera. 

Elizabeth Marquand, Newburyport, Mass. — Lepidoptera. 

Arthur Stone, Boston, Mass. — Lepidoptera. 

Respectfully submitted, 

G. Howard Parker. 

An Anecdote of Agassiz. 

H. E. Deats, of Pittstown, N. J., sends the following interesting 
anecdote of Prof. Agassiz, which he copied from the Home Circle : 

" His father destined him for a commercial life, and was impatient 
at his devotion to frogs, snakes, and fishes. The last, especially, 
were the objects of the boy's attention. He came to London with 
letters to Sir Roderick Murchison. 

" ' You have been studying nature,' said the great man, bluntly. 
' What have you learned ? ' 

" The lad was timid, not sure at that moment that he had learned 
anything. l I think,' he said at last, ' I know a little about fishes.' 

" ' Very well. There will be a meeting of the Royal Society to- 
night. I will take you with me there.* 

" All of the great scientific savants of England belonged to this 
society. That evening, toward its close, Sir Roderick rose and 
said : 

" ' I have a young friend here from Switzerland, who thinks he 
knows something about fishes ; how much, I have a fancy to try. 
There is, under this cloth, a perfect skeleton of a fish which existed 
long before man.' He then gave the precise locality in which it had 
been found, with one or two other facts concerning it. The species to 
which the specimen belonged was, of course, extinct. 'Can you 
sketch for me on the blackboard your idea of this fish?' said Sir 

"Agassiz took the chalk, and rapidly sketched a skeleton fish. 
Sir Roderick held up the specimen. The portrait was correct in 
every bone and line. The grave old doctors burst into loud applause. 
' Sir,' Agassiz said, on telling the story, ' that was the proudest 
moment of my life — no, the happiest, for I knew now my father 
would consent that I should give my life to science.* " 

[This anecdote may contain a helpful suggestion for the very 
small number of our members who are opposed and ridiculed at 
home. Study earnestly, and learn so much that you can prove the 

value of your work.] 


x. Do earthquakes generally occur in volcanic regions ? 2. Why 
does whirling make a person dizzy ? 3. What is the best way to 
keep cocoons and caterpillars? 4. Of what use arc toads? 5. Do 
squirrels drink water? 6. What are the uses of rlies ? 7. Explain 
the comparative anatomy of the legs of a horse and a man. 8. Where 
do prairie-dogs get water? 9. What is the best cure for a rattle- 
snake's bite? 


86. Attacus Cynthia. — Some one in the Agassiz March report 
asks, " What is the Attacus Cynthia ? " 

It is a large moth from the "Ailanthus Silkworm," a native of 
Japan, and introduced in 1S58 into France, where it is now said to- 
be "as much at home as in its native habitat." 

I have had two cocoons which opened and produced handsome 
moths about the size of the Cecropia Moth. The wings have a 
narrow band of white, which, as spread, form a sort of collar, and 
are extended by a crescent of a rich brown, edged with satiny white. 
There are crescents on both front and hinder wings. There is, out- 
side the white line, a rose-purple border, which edges the collar, and 
the heavy inner edge of the broad border, which, like the whole 
ground-work is a sort of brown olive-green. The body is covered 
with rows of white cottony tufts, three parallel rows down the back, 
six in each row, about the size of a small pin's head. On the front 
edge of the fore-wings is a small oval black spot, bordered with an 
edge of white above. The cocoon resembles that of Attacus Prome- 
thia. These came to me from Brooklyn, N. Y. 

The caterpillar, (which I have not seen) and the cocoon and 
eggs (but not the moth) are figured in Figure's Insect World, p. 
248, where, " when full grown," it is described as "emerald-green,, 
with the head, the feet, and the last segment of a beautiful golden. 
yellow." J. p. B. 

87. Snow Crystals. — While walking in a meadow I came to a 
small hillock between two evergreen trees. In ascending this knoll, 
I was suddenly transfixed by the beautiful colors of the snow; the 
crystals of which the slant rays of the February sun lighted up 
brightly. Below are the prominent colors, the pure beauty of which. 
can not be described : 

Green. — With a sort of liquid luster. 

Bine. — Very clear, and merging into the green. 

Purple. — Which gave a magnificent cast to the landscape. 

Linwood M. Howe. 

8S. Trenton, B. — I found the nest of a wood-pewee {Contopus- 

virens). It had two cream-colored eggs, speckled with black near 
the larger end. 1 climbed the tree, but did not touch the eggs. 
While 1 was looking at them, one egg cracked open in the middle, 
and a little wood-pewee came out. — Herbert Westwood, Pres. 

[We have never known of another instance in which any one has 
seen a wild bird leave the egg. Has any one ?] 

A Convention Proposed by Chapter 21. 

We are the more inclined to publish the following communication) 
from Chapter 21, because the Nashua branch is one of our oldest 
and most' energetic; because the plan is entirely spontaneous with. 
them, and especially, because they assure us that the proposed "con- 
vention is for the discussion of scientific subjects, comparison of 
methods, exchange of specimens, etc., but not politics. " 

,We should add as one of the chief advantages, the opportunity of 
becoming personally acquainted. After long and pleasant inter- 
course by letter, it is worth much to meet each other face to face. 

Let us all go to Nashua next September, if possible, and have a 
good and profitable time. 

To the Chapters of the Agassiz Association. 

Believing that nothing can promote the welfare of the Association 
so much as annual meetings of the chapters, Chapter 21 proposes to 
try the experiment of inviting the A. A. to meet at Nashua, N. H., 
September third and fourth, 1884. 

The exercises will consist of the discussion of scientific subjects 
and questions that relate to the welfare of the Association. Dele- 
gates are requested to make short reports of their several Chapters. 

Please forward to the Nashua Chapter any important subject you 
would like the Convention to consider. 

An opportunity will be given to the delegates to visit the finest 
private mineralogical collection in the State. 

Chapters intending to send delegates will please inform us im- 
mediately in regard to the number; for if there is not a sufficient 
number intending to come, the Convention will not he held. The 
President of the A. A. has consented to attend, and other scien- 
tists are expected. 

Good hotel accommodations can be obtained at two dollars per day. 

Chapters are reminded that the Convention will afford an excellent 
opportunity to effect an exchange of specimens. 

If other information is desired, apply, with stamps, to 

F. W.Greeley, Nashua, N. H. 

[N. B. Chapters which think favorably of sending delegates to 
this Convention will kindly advise the President of the A. A. as 
well as the Secretary of Chapter 21.] 

Harlan H. Ballard, 

Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 

i88 4 .; 





Change the first and last letter of the first word defined to form 
the second word defined. Example: Change a substance used in 
brewing to a healing substance. Answer; m-al-t, b-al-m. 

i. Change to supplicate to a measure of weight. 2. Change a lesson 
to facility. 3. Change a season to undisturbed. 4. Change to glide 
to a medley. =,. Change a kind of fuel to a word meaning 
to erect. 6. Change a girl's name to a masculine name. 7. 
Change domestic animals to a garment worn by the Ro- 
mans. 8. Change perfume to something worshiped. 9. 
Change a horned animal to a masculine name. 10. Change 
species to a feminine name. 11. Change joyous to kill. 

When these changes have been rightly made, place the 
words one below the other in the order here given. The 
primals will name certain embellishments used on the day 
named by the finals. Cyril deaxe. 


5 7 

10. . .02 

Venice. .My 23-14-38-73 is a title of address. My 56-3-20-32-42-36- 
76 is cut in small hollows. My 37-1-69-44-11-35-60-18-50 is a tree of 
the laurel family whose bark has an aromatic smell and taste. My 
62-9-65-29-64-72 is a projecting candlestick. My 15-46-49-54 is 
necessity. My 10-52-12-70-25 
47-31-27- .19-68-34 is pertaining 
43-74 are large vehicles. 

is convenient. My 4-67-71-51-7-45- 
to the north-west. My 22-6-24-13- 


"15 w. 

Frame : From 1 to 2, a common name for Campeachy 
wood ; from 3 to 4, one who warns of faults or gives advice 
by way of reproof or caution ; from 5 to 6, a share ; from 7 
to 8, the apparent junction of earth and sky. 

Included Word-square : 1. The color of the wood of 
the upper bar. 2. Part of the day. 3. A cave. j. p. B. 


The diagonals {reading downward) from left to right, a 
climbing plant ; from right to left, a precious stone. 

Cross-words: 1. Having joints, 2. Peaceful. 3. Transit 
from one place to another. 4 An injunction. 5. To prepare. 
6. Flags of an army. 7. A controversy. f. s. f. 


To burn' my first, with heat would fill; 
To burn my second, the birds would kill; 
To burn my ivhole, if such were fate. 
Would destroy a town in the Keystone State. 

" s. M. ARTY." 


The beheaded letters, read in the order here given, will 
spell the name of the President of the United States who 
said, "Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time." 

Cross-words: i. Behead partly open and leave a recep- 
tacle. 2. Behead a musical company and leave a conjunc- 
tion. 3. Behead to tear and leave termination. 4. Behead 
dry and leave to free from. 5. Behead a space of time and 
leave a pronoun. 6. Behead "so be it" and leave mankind. 
7. Behead a ditch and leave a kind of grain. 8. Behead a 
bird and leave a famous vessel. 9. Behead a familiar con- 
traction of a Latin word meaning " in the same place " and 
leave to command. 10. Behead two and a quarter inches 
and leave to be ill. 11. Behead a hood and leave a bird. 
12. Behead a sign and leave adults. 13. Behead the name 
of a famous but improvident king and leave the perception 
sounds. 14. Behead nice and leave to consume. 



I am composed of seventy-six letters, and am two lines from one 
of Thomson's poems. 

My 57-33-16-26 are heavy vapors. My 21-5S-17-66-S-63 name the 
" melancholy Dane." My 2-59-41-4S-75-53 is a cover fcr the hand. 
My tPS'i-^ is tumult. My 40-18-5-61 is the chief magistrate of 

First read the above as a rebus. The answer will be a four-line 
stanza. Then select the eight letters inclosed in eight similar circles. 
When these letters are rightly placed, they will spell the name of the 
writer of the stanza. 


My primals name a country of Europe; my finals a sea-port of 
that country noted for its trade in grain. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : 1. A hut for herdsmen. 2. 
Joined. 3. To greet. 4. A succession. 5. Results. 6. A penin- 
sula of North America. YESSIF w. 





years. 7. An affirmation. 8. A unit. 9. The central part of a 
wheel. 10. Anger. 11. Much needed in summer. 12. To annex. 
13. Enormous. 14. A slippery customer. frank. 


I. Upper Left-hand Diamond: i. In candle. 2. A large 
vessel or cistern. 3. A gentleman's servant. 4. A mild chloride 
of mercury, much used as a medicine. 5. A grain-measure of 
Tripoli, containing nearly six gallons. 6. A number, 7. In candle. 

II. Upper Right-hand Diamond: i. In candle. 2. A wager. 
3. To weave or entwine together. 4, Gained knowledge of. 5. Re- 
sembling tin. 6. The governor of Algiers. 7. In candle. 

III. Central Diamond: i. In candle. 2. The egg of an insect. 
3. Bare. 4. Compared. 5. Rigid. 6. A river of Scotland. 7. In 

IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond : 1. In candle. 2. Was 
seated. 3. A convention or council. 4. Exhausted. 5. To pull or 
haul. 6. To expire. 7. In candle. 

V. Lower Right-hand Diamond : 1. In candle. 2. A period 
■of time. 3. A species of antelope in South Africa. 4. A soldier who 
is taught and armed to serve either on horseback or on foot. 5. 
The positive pole of an electric battery. 6. The female of the fallow- 
deer. 7. In candle. del. 


Each of the words described contains three letters. The zigzag, 
beginning at the upper right-hand corner, will spell the name of a 
great engineering enterprise recently completed. 

Cross-words : 1. A large wooden vessel. 2. A sphere. 3. A 
nocturnal bird. 4. A lad. 5. A place of safety. 6. Advanced in 

Each of the six pictures here shown may be described by a word 
of six letters. When these have been rightly guessed, and placed 
one below the other in the order here given, the diagonal, from the 
upper left-hand corner to the lower right-hand comer, will spell the 
day for an annual excursion. 


t. The father of Saturn. 2. Not of remote date. 3. To charge 
with an offense. 4. In grammar, a word meaning of neither 
gender. 5. Invisible, 6. The surname uf an English writer of the 
eighteenth century. " hyperion." 


Corkscrew Puzzle. Welcome showers. Cross-words: 1. eWer. 
■2. ovEn. 3. pLan. 4. roCk. 5. cOat. 6. doMe. 7. bEnt. 8. 
noSe. 9. tHin. 10. prOp. 11. oWls. 12. tiEs. 13. tRap. 14. 
roSe. Charade. Breakfast. 

Easy Beheadings, i. G-oat. 2. G-one. 3. S-cream. 4. 
O-old. 5. T-omsk. 

Enigma. Smoother, smother, mother, other, her, he, eh. 

Concealed Word-square, i. Whom. 2. Hero. 3. Orbs. 4. 

Double Acrostic. Primals, Benjamin; finals, Franklin. Cross- 
words: 1. BlufF. 2. ErroR. 3. NevA. 4. JoiN. 5. ArK. 6. 
ModeL. 7. Icenl. 8. NatioN. 

Diamond, i. S. 2. Sad. 3. Mated. 4. Satiric. 5. Satirical. 
'6. Derived. 7. Dicer. 8. Cad. 9. L. 

Cube. From 1 to 2, rascal ; 2 to 6, linnet ; 5 to 6, escort ; 1 to 5, 
Telate : 3 to 4, Tabard ; 4 to 8, doctor : 7 to 8, tartar ; 3 to 7, tar- 
get; 1 to 3, rout; 2 to 4, lord; 6 to 8, tier; 5 to 7, exit. 

Five Word-squares. I. 1. Late. 2. Acid. 3. Time. 4. 
Eden. II. 1. Earl. 2. Area. 3. Ream. 4. Lame. III. 1. 
Base. 2. Amen. 3. Send. 4. Ends. IV. 1. Ring. 2. Iron. 
3. Nora. 4. Gnaw. V. 1. Sane. 2. Arid. 3. Nine. 4. Eden. 

Pi. Again the blackbirds sing; the streams 

Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, 
And tremble in the April showers 
The tassels of the maple flowers. 

Hour-glass. Centrals, flowers. Cross-words: 1. preFace. 2. 
baLmy. 3. dOt. 4. W. 5. bEg. 6 beRth. 7. ConSole. 

Novel Double Acrostics. I. Primals, Easter; finals. Lilies. 
Cross-words : 1. EntaiL. 2. Abassl. 3. SequeL. 4. Tahiti. 
5. EffacE. 6. RecesS. II. Primals, Lilies; finals, Lenten. 
Cross-words : 1. LentiL. 2. InsanE. 3. ListeN. 4. InverT. 5. 
EngagE. 6. SaturN. III. Primals, Lenten; finals, Season. 
Cross-words: 1. LimitS. 2. EntirE. 3. NauseA. 4. ThameS. 
5. EskimO. 6. NatioN. 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City. 

Answers to February Puzzles received, too late for acknowledgment in April number, from Hester M. F. Powell, 13. 

Answers to All the Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from Cyril Deane — Madeleine Vultee — 
Maggie T. Turrill — Jessie A. Piatt — Mamma, Hattie, and Clara, 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from J. D. W., 1 — Willie Mossman, 5 — E. N., 1 

— Helen Ballantine, 2 — Edith M. Van Dusen, 2 — Bessie Grise, 1 — Grace H. Frisbie, 2 — Maude Bugbee, g — "Young Martin" and 
" Merry Pecksniff," 7 — Paul Reese, 11 — Viola Percy Conklin, 2 — R. McKean Barry, 1 — Carrie Howard, 2 — Ida Paine, 1 — May H. 
Munroe, 1 — Laura Churchill, 1 — J. V., 1 — S. R. T., n — Julia Vauk and Mamie Rogers, 3 — De and Ish, 1 — Olive B. Worden, 1 — 
Eben M. Willis, 1 — Uncle Mo and Cousin Mamie, 2 — Nellie B. Kempton, 1 — Moses W., 4— Jessie Doig, 1 — Maggie B. Hoffman, 1 

— Will R. Rowe, 2 — Birdie Alberger, 2 — Amy M. Thunder, 1 — Ed, 9 — Louie, 1 — Nellie K., 2 — Frank T. Pope, 5 — Clara, 1 — 
"Fin. I. S.," 3 — " Shumway Hen and Chickens," 11 — M. E. K.. 2 — Henry Amsden, 1 — Bessie Evanston. 1 — Reginald H. 
Murphy, Jr., 1 — Wm. H. Clark, 11 — Edna Seaman, 1 — S- S., 3 — Sallie Viles, 9 — Buttercup, 3 — Carrie Rothschild, 1 — H. C. White, 
2 — Jennie and Birdie K, 4 — Alex. H. Laidlaw, 3 — Geo. P. Miller, 8 — Harry and Kiltie, 1 — Agnes GrifTen, 1 — H. I. D., 1 — John 
C. Winne and Geo. C. Beebe, 1 — Effie K. Talboys, 4 — Edward J. Shipsey. 2 — Edward S. Oliver, 2 — Bettie S. Latham and Mrs. B., 5 

— F. B. Bonesteele, 1 — Josie Buchanan, 2 — Russell K. Miller, 2 — Lizzie and Papa, 7 — L. C. B, 4 — Mamma and Adelaide, 6 — 
Edith Helen Moss. 2 — " The Cottage," 3 — Geo. James Bristol, 4 — Minnie B. Murray, 11 — Julia T. Nelson, 2 — " March Wind," 4 — 
Alice V. Westwood, 7 — W. B. Angell, 8 — George Lyman Waterhouse, n — Bessie B. Anderson, S — Willie Sheraton, 3 — Laura and 
Willie Rice, 9 — Charlotte Evans, 2 — Blake and Ellison H., 6 — Appleton H., 5 — Chas. H. Kyte, 10 — Marguerite Kyte, 2 — M. White 
and V. Westover, 5 — Bessie Rogers and Co., 10 — Lucy M- Bradley, n — I. S. Palmer, 7 — Geo. Habenicht. 1 — E. Westervelt, 1 — 

Margaret, Muriel, and Edith Grundy, 5 — B. T. B., 3 — Hugh and Cis, 11 — Francis W. I slip, 11. 


(See page 611.) 


Vol. XL 

JUNE, 1884. 

No. 8. 

I Copyright. 18S4, by The CENTURY CO.; 


By Lucy Larcom. 

They put her to bed in the darkness, 
And bade her be quiet and good ; 

But she sobbed in the silence, and trembled, 
Though she tried to be brave as she could. 

For the Night was so real, so awful ! 

A mystery closing around, 
Like the walls of a deep, deep dungeon. 

That hid her from sight and sound. 

So stifling, so empty, so dreary — 

That horror of loneliness black ! 
She fell asleep, moaning and fearing 

That morning would never come back. 

A baby must bear its own sorrow, 
Since none understands it aright ; — 

But at last, from her bosom was lifted 
That terrible fear of the night. 

One evening, the hands that undressed her 
Led her out of the door close by, 

And bade her look up for a moment — 
Lip into the wonderful sky. 

Where the planets and constellations, 

Deep-rooted in darkness, grew 
Like blossoms from black earth blooming. 

All sparkling with silvery dew. 

It seemed to bend down to meet her, — 
That luminous purple dome : 

She was caught up into a glory, 

Where her baby-heart was at home ; — 

Like a child in its father's garden, 
As glad as a child could be, 

In the feeling of perfect protection 
And limitless liberty. 

And this had been all around her, 
While she shuddered alone in bed ! 

The beautiful, grand revelation. 
With ecstasy sweet she read. 

And she sank into sound child-slumber. 

All folded in splendors high, 
All happy and soothed with blessings 

Breathed out of the heart of the sky. 

And in dreams her light, swift footsteps 

Those infinite spaces trod, — 
A fearless little explorer 

Of the paths that lead up to God. 

The darkness now was no dungeon. 
But a key unto wide release ; 

And the Night was a vision of freedom - 
A Presence of heavenly peace. 

And I doubt not that in like manner 
Might vanish, as with a breath. 

The gloom and the lonely terror 
Of the Mystery we call Death. 

5 88 




clear sky over Di- 
nan, the hill-sides 
were white with 
hosts of blooming 
cherry-trees, and 
the valley golden 
with willow blos- 
soms. The gray 
tower of the good 
Duchess Anne 
was hung with 
garlands of ivy and gay with tufts of fragrant wall- 
flowers, and along the fosse the shadows deepened 
daily as the young leaves thickened on the inter- 
lacing branches overhead. Women sang while 
they beat their clothes by the pool; wooden shoes 
clattered to and fro as the girls brought water from 
the fountain in Place St. Louis; men, with their 
long hair, embroidered jackets, and baggy breeches, 
drank cider at the inn doors ; and the great Breton 
horses shook their high collars till the bells rang 
again as they passed along the roads that wound 
between wide fields of colza, buckwheat, and clover. 
Lip at the chateau, which stood near the ruins 
of the ancient castle, the great banner streamed 
in the wind, showing, as its folds blew out, the 
device and motto of the Beaumanoirs — two clasped 
hands and the legend, " En tout chemin loyaute'."* 
In the court-yard hounds brayed, horses pranced, 
and servants hurried about ; for the count was go- 
ing to hunt the wild boar. Presently, away they 
went, with the merry music of horns, the clatter 
of hoofs, and the blithe ring of voices, till the 
pleasant clamor died away in the distant woods, 
where mistletoe clung to the great oaks, and men- 

* Always loyal. 

By Louisa M. Alcott. 

hire and dolmens, mysterious relics of the Druids, 
were to be seen. 

From one of the windows of the chateau tower a 
boy's face looked out. full of eager longing. A 
fine, strong face, but sullen now, with black brows, 
dark, restless eyes, and lips set, as if rebellious 
thoughts were stirring in his mind. He watched 
the gay cavalcade disappear until a sunny silence 
settled over the landscape, broken only by the 
larks and the sound of a girl's voice singing. As 
he listened, the frown smoothed itself from his 
brow, and his eye brightened when it rested on a 
blue-gowned, white-capped figure, sprinkling webs 
of linen, spread to bleach in the green meadow by 
the river Ranee. 

" If I may not hunt, I'll away to Yvonnef and 
take a holiday. She can tell better tales than any 
in this weary book, the bane of my life ! " 

As he spoke, the boy struck a volume that lay 
on the wide ledge, with a petulant energy that sent 
it fluttering down into the court-yard below. Half 
ashamed and half amused, young Gaston peeped 
to see if this random shot had hit any one. But 
all was quiet and deserted now ; so, with a boyish 
laugh and a daring glance at the dangerous de- 
scent, he said to the doves cooing on the roof over- 
head : " Here 's a fine pretext for escape. Being 
locked in, how can I get my lesson unless I fetch 
the book ? Tell no tales of the time I linger, and 
you shall be well fed, my pretty birds." 

Then swinging himself out as if it were no new 
feat, he climbed boldly down through the ivy that 
half hid the carved flowers and figures which made 
a ladder for his agile feet. . 

The moment he touched ground, he raced away 
like a hound in full scent to the meadow, where he 
was welcomed by a rosy, brown-eyed lass, whose 

t Pronounced Evone. 



white teeth shone as she laughed to see him leap 
the moat, dodge behind the wall, and come bound- 
ing toward her, his hair streaming in the wind, 
and his face full of boyish satisfaction in this 

" The old tale," he panted, as he threw himself 
down upon the grass and flung the recovered book 
beside him. " This dreary Latin drives me mad, 
and I will not waste such days as this poring 
over dull pages like a priest, when I should be 
hunting like a knight and gentleman." 

'• Nay, dear Gaston, but you ought, for obe- 
dience is the first duty of the knight, and honor of 
the gentleman," answered the girl, in a soft, 
reproachful tone, which seemed to touch the lad, 
as the voice of a master tames a high-mettled 

" Had Father Nevin trusted to my honor, 1 would 
not have run away ; but he locked me in like a 
monk in a cell, and that I will not bear. Just one 
hour, Yvonne, one little hour of freedom, then I 
will go back, else there will be no sport for me to- 
morrow," said the lad, recklessly pulling up the 
bluets that starred the grass about him. 

"Ah, if I were set to such a task, I would so 
gladly learn it that I might be a fitter friend for 
you," said the girl, reverently turning the pages 
of the book she could not read. 

" No need of that ; I like you as you are, and 
by my faith, I doubt your great willingness, for 
when I last played tutor and left you to spell out 
the pretty legend of St. Coventin and his little fish, 
I found you fast asleep with the blessed book up- 
on the floor," laughed Gaston, turning the tables 
on his mentor, with great satisfaction. 

The girl laughed also as she retorted, " My tutor 
should not have left me to play with his dogs. I 
bore my penance better than you, and did not run 
away. Come, now, we '11 be merry* Will you talk, 
or shall I sing, while you rest this hot head, and 
dream of horse and hound and spearing the wild 
boar? " added Yvonne, smoothing the locks of hair 
scattered on the grass, with a touch as gentle as if 
the hand were that of a lady, and not that of a peas- 
ant rough with hard work. 

" Since I may not play a man's part yet, amuse 
me like a boy with the old tales your mother used 
to tell when we watched the fagots blaze in the 
winter nights. It is long since I have heard one, 
and I am never tired hearing of the deeds I mean 
to match, if not outdo, some day. 

" Let me think a bit till I remember your favor- 
ites, and do you listen to the bees above there in the 
willow, setting you a good example, idle boy," said 
Yvonne, spreading a coarse apron for his head, 
while she sat beside him racking her brain for tales 
to beguile this truant hour. 

Her father was the count's forester, and when the 
countess had died some sixteen years before, leav- 
ing a month-old boy, good dame Gillian had taken 
the motherless baby and nursed and reared him 
with her little girl, so faithfully and tenderly that 
the count never could forget the loyal service. As 
babies, the two slept in one cradle ; as children 
they played and quarreled together ; and as boy 
and girl they defended, comforted, and amused 
each other. But time brought inevitable changes, 
and both felt that the hour of separation was near; 
for, while Yvonne went on leading the peasant 
life to which she was born, Gaston was receiving 
the education befitting a young count. The chap- 
lain taught him to read and write, with lessons in 
sacred history and a little Latin. Of the forester 
he learned woodcraft, and his father taught him 
horsemanship and the use of arms, accomplish- 
ments considered all-important in those days. 

Gaston cared nothing for books, except such as 
told tales of chivalry, but dearly loved athletic 
sports, and at sixteen rode the most fiery horse 
without a fall, handled a sword admirably, could 
kill a boar at the first shot, and longed ardently 
for war, that he might prove himself a man. A 
brave, high-spirited, generous boy, with a very 
tender spot in his heart for the good woman who 
had been a mother to him and his little foster- 
sister, whose idol he was. For days he seemed to 
forget these humble friends, and led the gay, 
active life of his age and rank ; but if wounded in 
the chase, worried by the chaplain, disappointed 
in any plan, or in disgrace for any prank, he turned 
instinctively to Dame Gillian and Yvonne, sure of 
help and comfort for mind and body. 

Companionship with him had refined the girl, and 
given her glimpses of a world into which she could 
never enter, yet where she could follow with eager 
eyes and high hopes the fortunes of this dear Gas- 
ton, who was both her prince and brother. Her 
influence over him was great, for she was of a calm 
and patient nature, as well as brave and prudent 
beyond her years. His will was law ; yet in seem- 
ing to obey, she often led him, and he thanked her 
for the courage with which she helped him to con- 
trol his fiery temper and strong will. Now, as she 
glanced at him she saw that he was already growing 
more tranquil under the soothing influences of the 
murmuring river, the soft flicker of the sunshine, 
and a blessed sense of freedom. 

So, while she twisted her distaff, she told the 
stirring tales of warriors, saints, and fairies whom all 
Breton peasants honor, love, and fear. But best of 
all was the tale of Caston's own ancestor, Jean de 
Beaumanoir, " the hero of Ploermel, where, when 
sorely wounded and parched with thirst, he cried 
for water, and Geoffrey du Bois answered, like a 




grim old warrior as he was, ' Drink thy blood, 
Beaumanoir, and the thirst will pass'; and he 
drank, and the battle madness seized him, and he 
slew ten men, winning the fight against great 
odds, to his everlasting glory." 

"Ah, those were the times to live in ! If they 
could only come again. I would be a second Jean ! " 

Gaston sprung to his feet as he spoke, all aglow 
with the warlike ardor of his race, and Yvonne 
looked up at him, sure that he would prove himself a 
worthy descendant of the great baron and his wife, 
the daughter of the brave Du Guesclin. 

" But you shall not be treacherously killed, as he 
was, for 1 will save you as the peasant woman saved 
poor Gilles de Bretagne when starving in the tower, 
or fight for you as Jeanne d'Arc fought for her lord," 
answered Yvonne, dropping her distaff to stretch 
out her hand to him ; for she, too, was on her feet. 

Gaston took the faithful hand, and pointing to 
the white banner floating over the ruins of the old 
castle, said heartily : ' We will always stand by 
one another, and be true to the motto of our 
house till death." 

■■ We will ! " answered the girl, and both kept 
the promise loyally, as we shall see. 

Just at that moment the sound of hoofs made 
the young enthusiasts start and look toward the 
road that wound through the valley to the hill. 
An old man on a slowly pacing mule was all they 
saw, but the change that came overboth was comical 
in its suddenness : for the gallant knight turned 
to a truant school-boy, daunted by the sight of his 
tutor, while the rival of the Maid of Orleans grew 
pale with dismay. 

" I am lost if he spy me, for my father vowed I 
should not hunt again unless I did my task. He 
will see me if I run, and where can I hide till he 
has past ? "whispered Gaston, ashamed of his panic, 
yet unwilling to pay the penalty of his prank. 

But quick-witted Yvonne saved him ; for lifting 
one end of the long web of linen, she showed a hol- 
low whence some great stone had been moved, and 
Gaston slipped into the green nest, over which the 
linen lay smoothly when replaced. 

On came the chaplain, glancing sharply about 
him, being of an austere and suspicious nature. 
He saw nothing, however, but the peasant girl in 
her quaint cap and wooden sabots, singing to her- 
self as she leaned against a tree with her earthen 
jug in her hand. The mule paused in the light 
shadow of the willows to crop a mouthful of grass 
before climbing the hill, and the chaplain seemed 
glad to rest a moment, for the day was warm and 
the road dusty. 

" Come hither, child, and give me a draught of 
water," he called, and the girl ran to fill her pitcher, 
offering it with a low reverence. 

'• Thanks, daughter ! A fine day for the bleach- 
ing, but over warm for much travel. Go to vour 
work, child ; 1 will tarry a moment in the shade be- 
fore I return to my hard task of sharpening a dull 
youth's wit," said the old man when he had 
drunk; and with a frowning glance at the room 
where he had left his prisoner, he drew a breviary 
from his pocket and began to read, while the mule 
browsed along the road-side. 

Yvonne went to sprinkling the neglected linen, 


wondering with mingled anxiety and girlish mer- 
riment how Gaston fared. The sun shone hotly 
on the dry cloth, and as she approached the boy's 
hiding-place, a stir would have betrayed him had 
the chaplain's eyes been lifted. 

"Sprinkle me quickly; I am stifling in this 
hole," whispered an imploring voice. 

" Drink thy blood, Beaumanoir, and the thirst 
will pass." quoted Yvonne, taking a naughty 
satisfaction in the ignominious captivity of the will- 
ful boy. A long sigh was the only answer he 
gave, and taking pity on him, she made a little 
hollow in the linen where she knew his head lay, 
and poured in water till a choking sound assured 
her Gaston had enough. The chaplain looked up, 

S P I N N I N G - W 1 1 E EL STORIES. 


but the girl coughed loudly, as she went to refill 
her jug, with such a demure face that he suspected 
nothing, and presently ambled away to seek his 
refractory pupil. 

The moment he disappeared, a small earthquake 
seemed to take place under the linen, for it flew 
up violently, and a pair of long legs waved joyfully 
in the air as Gaston burst into a ringing laugh, 
which Yvonne echoed heartily. Then, springing 
up, he said, throwing back his wet hair and shaking 
his finger at her : " You dared not betray me, but 
you nearly drowned me, wicked girl. I can not 
stop for vengeance now ; but I '11 toss you into the 
river some day, and leave you to get out as you 

Then he was off as quickly as he came, eager to 
reach his prison again before the chaplain came to 
hear the unlearned lesson. Yvonne watched him 
till he climbed safely in at the high window and 
disappeared with a wave of the hand, when she, 
too, went back to her work, little dreaming what 
brave parts both were to play in dangers and cap- 
tivities of which these youthful pranks and perils 
were but a foreshadowing. 

Two years later, in the month of March, 1793, 
the insurrection broke out in Vendee, and Gaston 
had his wish ; for the old count had been an officer 
of the king's household, and hastened to prove his 
loyalty. Yvonne 's heart beat high with pride as 
she saw her foster-brother ride gallantly away be- 
side his father, with a hundred armed vassals be- 
hind them, and the white banner fluttering above 
their heads in the fresh forest wind. 

She longed to go with him ; but her part was to 
watch and wait, to hope and pray, till the hour 
came when she, like many another woman in those 
days, could prove herself as brave as a man, and 
freely risk her life for those she loved. 

Four months later the heavy tidings reached 
them that the old count was killed and Gaston 
taken prisoner. Great was the lamentation among 
the old men, women, and children left behind ; but 
they had little time for sorrow, for a band of the 
marauding Vendeans burned the chateau, and laid 
waste the Abbey. 

" Now, Mother, I must up and away to find 
and rescue Gaston. I promised, and if he lives, it 
shall be done. Let me go ; you are safe now, and 
there is no rest for me till I know how he fares," 
said Yvonne, when the raid was over, and the 
frightened peasants ventured to return from the 
neighboring forests, whither they had hastily fled 
for protection. 

"Go, my girl, and bring me news of our young 
lord. May you lead him safely home again to 
rule over us," answered Dame Gillian, devoted 
still, — for her husband was reported dead with 

his master, yet she let her daughter go without a 
murmur, feeling that no sacrifice was too great. 

So Yvonne set out, taking with her Gaston's pet 
dove and the little sum of money carefully hoarded 
for her marriage portion. The pretty winged 
creature, frightened by the destruction of its home, 
had flown to her for refuge, and she had cher- 
ished it for its master's sake, Now, when it would 
not leave her, but came circling around her head 
a league away from Dinan, she accepted the good 
omen, and made the bird the companion of her 
perilous journey. 

There is no room to tell all the dangers, dis- 
appointments and fatigues endured before she 
found Gaston ; but after being often misled by 
false rumors, she at last discovered that he was a 
prisoner in Fort Penthievre. His own reckless cour- 
age had brought him there, for in one of the many 
skirmishes in which he had taken part, he ventured 
too far away from his men, and was captured after 
fighting desperately to cut his way out. Now, alone 
in his cell, he raged like a caged eagle, feeling that 
there was no hope of escape ; for the fort stood on 
a plateau of precipitous rock washed on two sides 
by the sea. He had heard of the massacre of the 
royalist emigrants who landed there, and tried to 
prepare himself for a like fate, hoping to die as 
bravely as young Sombreuil, who was shot with 
twenty others on what was afterward named the 
" Champ des Martyrs."* His last words, when 
ordered by the executioner to kneel, were, " I do 
it ; but one knee I bend for my God, the other for 
my king." 

Day after day Gaston looked down from his narrow 
window, past which the gulls flew screaming, and 
watched the fishers at their work, the women 
gathering sea-weed on the shore, and the white 
sails flitting across the bay of Ouiberon. Bitterly 
did he regret the willfulness which brought him 
there, well knowing that if he had obeyed orders he 
would now be free to find his father's body and 
avenge his death. 

" Oh, for one day of liberty, one hope of escape, 
one friend to cheer this dreadful solitude ! " he 
cried, when weeks had passed and he seemed 
utterly forgotten. 

As he spoke, he shook the heavy bars with im- 
potent strength, then bent his head as if to hide 
even from himself the few hot tears wrung from 
him by captivity and despair. 

Standing so, with eyes too dim for seeing, some- 
thing brushed against his hair, and a bird lit on 
the narrow ledge. He thought it was a gull, and 
paid no heed ; but in a moment a soft coo startled 
him, and looking up, he saw a white dove struggling 
to get in. 

" Blanchette! " he cried, and the pretty creature 

^The Field of Martyrs. 




flew to his hand, pecking at his lips in the old ca- 
ressing way he knew so well. 

" My faithful bird, God bless thee ! " exclaimed 
the poor lad, holding the dove close against his 
cheek to hide the trembling of his lip, so touched, 
so glad was he to find in his dreary prison even a 
dumb friend and comforter. 

But Blanchette had her part to play, and pres- 
ently fluttered back to the window ledge, cooing 
loudly as she pecked at something underneath 
her wing. 

Then Gaston remembered how he used to send 
messages to Yvonne by this carrier-dove, and with 
a thrill of joy looked for the token, hardly daring 
to hope that any would be found. Yes ! there, 
tied carefully among the white feathers, was a tiny 
roll of paper, with these words rudely written on it : 

"Be ready; help will come. Y." 

" The brave girl ! the loyal heart ! I might have 
known she would keep her promise, and come 
to save me," and Gaston dropped on his knees in 

Blanchette meantime tripped about the cell on 
her little rosy feet, ate a few crumbs of the hard 
bread, dipped her beak in the jug of water, dressed 
her feathers daintily, then flew to the bars and 
called him. He had nothing to send back by this 
sure messenger but a lock of hair, and this he tied 
with the same thread, in place of the note. Then 
kissing the bird he bade it go, watching the 
silver wings flash in the sunshine as it flew away, 
carrying joy with it and leaving hope behind. 

After that the little courier came often unper- 
ceived, carrying letters to and fro ; for Yvonne sent 
bits of paper and Gaston wrote his answers with 
his blood and a quill from Blanchette's wing. He 
thus learned how Yvonne was living in a fisher's 
hut on the beach, and working for his rescue as 
well as she dared. Ever) - day she might be seen 
gathering sea-weed on the rocks or twirling her 
distaff at the door of the dilapidated hut, not as a 
young girl, but as an old \voman ; for she had stained 
her fair skin, put on ragged clothes, and hidden 
her fresh face under the pent-house cap worn by 
the women of Ouiberon. Her neighbors thought 
her a poor soul left desolate by the war, and let 
her live unmolested. So she worked on secretly 
and steadily, playing her part well and biding her 
time till the long hempen rope was made, the sharp 
file procured unsuspected, and a boat ready to re- 
ceive the fugitives. 

Her plan was perilously simple, but the only 
one possible ; for Gaston was well guarded, and 
out of that lofty cell it seemed that no prisoner could 
escape without wings. A bird and a woman lent 
him those wings, and his daring flight was a nine 
days' wonder at the fort. Only a youth accustomed 

to feats of agility and strength could have safely 
made that dangerous escape along the face of the 
cliff that rose straight up from the shore. But 
Gaston was well trained, and the boyish pranks 
that used to bring him into dire disgrace now helped 
to save his life. 

Thus, when the order came, written in the rude 
hand he had taught Yvonne long ago, " Pull up the 
thread which Blanchette will bring at midnight. 
Watch for a light in the bay. Then come down, and 
St. Barbe protect you," he was ready; for the little 
file, brought by the bird, had secretly done its work, 
and several bars were loose. He knew that the at- 
tempt might cost him his life, but was willing to gain 
liberty even at that price ; for imprisonment seemed 
worse than death to his impatient spirit. The jail- 
or went his last round, the great bell struck the 
appointed hour, and Gaston stood at the window, 
straining his eyes to catch the first ray of the 
promised light, when the soft whir of wings glad- 
dened his ear, and Blanchette arrived, looking 
scared and wet and weary, for rain fell, the wind 
blew fitfully, and the poor bird was unused to such 
wild work as this. But obedient to its training, 
it flew to its master ; and no angel could have 
been more welcome than the storm-beaten little 
creature as it nestled in his bosom, while he un- 
tangled the lengths of strong fine thread wound 
about one of its feet. 

He knew what to do, and tying on the file to one 
end, as a weight, he let it down, praying that no 
cruel gust would break or blow it away. In a mo- 
ment a quick jerk at the thread bade him pull 
again. A cord came up, and when that was firmly 
secured, a second jerk was the signal for the last 
and most important haul. Up came the stout 
rope, knotted here and there to add safety and 
strength to the hands and feet that were to climb 
down that frail ladder, unless some cruel fate 
dashed the poor boy dead upon the rocks below. 
The rope was made fast to an iron staple inside, 
the bars were torn away, and Gaston crept through 
the narrow opening to perch on the ledge without, 
while Blanchette flew down to tell Yvonne he was 

The moment the distant spark appeared, he 
bestirred himself, set his teeth, and boldly began 
the dangerous descent. Rain blinded him, the 
wind beat him against the rock, bruising hands and 
knees, and the way seemed endless, as he climbed 
slowly down, clinging with the clutch of a drown- 
ing man, and blessing Yvonne for the knots that 
kept him from slipping when the gusts blew him 
to and fro. More than once he thought it was all 
over ; but the good rope held fast, and strength 
and courage nerved heart and limbs. One greater 
than St. Barbe upheld him, and he dropped at 



last, breathless and bleeding, beside the faithful 

There was no time for words, only a grasp of the 
hand, a sigh of gratitude, and they were away to 
the boat that tossed on the wild water with a 
single rower in his place. 

" It is our Hoel. I found him looking for you. 
He is true as steel. In, in, and off, or you are 
lost ! " whispered Yvonne, flinging a cloak about 
Gaston, thrusting a purse, a sword, and a flask 
into his hand, and holding the boat while he 
leaped in. 

"But you?" he cried ; "I can not leave you 
in peril, after all you have dared and done for 

"No one suspects me; I am safe; go to my 
mother, she will hide you, and I will follow soon." 

Waiting for no further speech, she pushed the 
boat off, and watched it vanish in the darkness, 
then went away to give thanks, and rest after her 
long work and excitement. 

Gaston reached home safely, and Dame Gillian 
concealed him in the ruins of the Abbey, till 
anxiety for Yvonne drove him out to seek and 
rescue in his turn. For she did not come, and 
when a returning soldier brought word that she had 
been arrested in her flight, and sent to Nantes, 
Gaston could not rest, but disguising himself as 
a peasant, went to find her, accompanied by faith- 
ful Hoel, who loved Yvonne, and would gladly 
die for her and his young master. Their hearts 
sunk when they discovered that she was in the 
Boufflay. an old fortress, once a royal residence, 
and now a prison, crowded with unfortunate and 
innocent creatures, arrested on the slightest pre- 
texts, and guillotined or drowned by the infamous 
Carrier. Hundreds of men and women were there, 
suffering terribly, and among them was Yvonne, 
brave still, but with no hope of escape, for few 
were saved, and then only by some lucky accident. 
Like a sister of mercy she went among the poor 
souls crowded together in the great halls, hungry, 
cold, sick, and despairing, and they clung to her 
as if she were some strong, sweet saint who could 
deliver them or teach them how to die. 

After some weeks of this terrible life, her name 
was called one morning, on the list for that day's 
execution, and she rose to join the sad procession 
setting forth. 

"Which is it to be ? " she asked, as she passed 
one of the men who guarded them, a rough fellow, 
whose face was half hidden by a shaggy beard. 

"You will be drowned; we have no time to 
waste on women," was the brutal answer; but as 
the words passed his lips, a slip of paper was 
pressed into her hand, and these words breathed 
into her ear bv a familiar voice : " I am here ! " 

It was Gaston, in the midst of enemies, bent on 
saving her at the risk of his life, remembering all 
he owed her, and the motto of his race. The 
shock of this discovery nearly betrayed them both, 
and turned her so white that the woman next her 
put an arm about her, saying sweetly : 

" Courage, my sister; it is soon over." 

" I fear nothing now ! " cried Yvonne, and went 
on to take her place in the cart, looking so serene and 
happy that those about her thought her already fit 
for heaven. 

No need to repeat the dreadful history of the 
Noyades; it is enough to say that in the confusion 
of the moment Yvonne found opportunity to read 
and destroy the little paper, which said briefly : 

"When you are flung into the river, call my 
name and float. I shall be near." 

She understood, and being placed with a crowd 
of wretched women on the old vessel which lay in 
the river Loire, she employed every moment in 
loosening the rope that tied her hands, and keep- 
ing her eye on the tall, bearded man who moved 
about seeming to do his work, while his blood 
boiled with suppressed wrath, and his heart ached 
with unavailing pity. It was dusk before the end 
came for Yvonne, and she was all unnerved by the 
sad sights she had been forced to see ; but wdien 
rude hands seized her, she made ready for the 
plunge, sure that Gaston would "be near." He 
was, for in the darkness and uproar, he could leap 
after her unseen, and while she floated, he cut the 
rope, then swam down the river with her hand up- 
on his shoulder till they dared to land. Both were 
nearly spent with the excitement and exertion of 
that dreadful hour; but Hoel waited for them 
on the shore and helped Gaston carry poor 
Yvonne into a deserted house, where they gave 
her fire, food, dry garments, and the gladdest wel- 
come one human creature ever gave to another. 

Being a robust peasant, the girl came safely 
through hardships that would have killed or crazed 
a frailer creature ; and she was soon able to rejoice 
with the brave fellows over this escape, so auda- 
ciously planned and so boldly carried out. They 
dared stay but a few hours, and before dawn were 
hastening through the least frequented ways to- 
ward home, finding safety in the distracted state 
of the country, which made fugitives no unusual 
sight and refugees plentiful. One more advent- 
ure, and that a happy one, completed their joy, 
and turned their flight into a triumphant march. 

Pausing in the depths of the great forest of 
Hunaudaye to rest, the two young men went to 
find food, leaving Yvonne to tend the fire and 
make ready to cook the venison they hoped to 
bring. It was night-fall, and another day would see 
them in Dinan, they hoped; but the lads had con- 




seated to pause for the girl's sake, for she was worn 
out with their rapid flight. They were talking of 
their adventures in high spirits, when Gaston laid 
his hand on Hoel 's mouth and pointed to a green 
slope before them. An early moon gave light 
enough to show them a dark form moving quickly 
into the coppice, and something like the antlers of 
a stag showed above the tall brakes before they 
vanished. " Slip around and drive him this way. 
I never miss my aim, and we will sup royally to- 
night," whispered Gaston, glad to use the arms 
with which they had provided themselves. 

Hoel slipped away, and presently a rustle in the 
wood betrayed the cautious approach of the deer. 
But he was off before a shot could be fired, and 
the disappointed hunters followed long and far, 
resolved not to go back empty-handed. They 
had to give it up, however, and were partially 
consoled by a rabbit, which Hoel flung over his 
shoulder, while Gaston, forgetting caution, began 
to sing an old song the women of Brittany love 
so well : 

" Quand vous etiez captif, Bertrand, fils de Bretagne, 
Tous les fuseaux tournaient anssi dans la campagne." 

He got no further, for the stanza was finished by 
a voice that had often joined in the ballad, when 
Dame Gillian sang it to the children, as she spun : 

" Chaque femme apporte son ccheveau de lin; 
Ce flit votre rancon, Messire du Guesclin." 

Both paused, thinking that some spirit of the 
wood mocked them ; but a loud laugh and a familiar 
" Holo ! holo ! " made Hoel cry, " The forester! " 
while Gaston dashed headlong into the thicket 
whence the sound came, there to find the jolly 
forester, indeed, with a slain deer by his side, 
waiting to receive them with open arms. 

" I taught you to stalk the deer and spear the 
boar, not to hunt your fellow-creatures, my lord. 

But I forgive you, for it was well done, and I had 
a hard run to escape," he said, still laughing. 

' ; But how came you here?" cried both the 
youths, in great excitement ; for the good man was 
supposed to be dead with his old master. 

" A long tale, for which I have a short and 
happy answer. Come home to supper with me, 
and I 'II show you a sight that will gladden hearts 
and eyes," he answered, shouldering his load and 
leading the way to a deserted hermitage, which 
had served many a fugitive for a shelter. As 
they went, Gaston poured out his story, and told 
how Yvonne was waiting for them in the wood. 

" Brave lads ! and here is your reward," an- 
swered the forester, pushing open the door and 
pointing to the figure of a man with a pale face and 
bandaged head lying asleep beside the fire. 

It was the count, sorely wounded, but alive, 
thanks to his devoted follower, who had saved him 
when the fight was over ; and after weeks of con- 
cealment, suffering, and anxiety, had brought him 
so far toward home. 

No need to tell of the happy meeting that night, 
nor of the glad return ; for, though the chateau was 
in ruins and lives were still in danger, they all were 
together, and the trials they had passed through only- 
made the ties of love and loyalty between high and 
low more true and tender. Good Dame Gillian 
housed them all, and nursed her master back to 
health. Yvonne and Hoel had a gay wedding in 
the course of time, and Gaston went to the wars 
again. A new chateau rose on the ruins of the 
old, arid when the young lord took possession, he 
replaced the banner that was lost with one of fair 
linen, spun and woven by the two women who had 
been so faithful to him and his, but added a white 
dove above the clasped hands and golden legend, 
never so true as now, 

"En tout chemin loyaute. " 

J UN E. 


By Caroline A. Mason. 

AppLE-blossoms in the orchard, 
Singing birds on ever)- tree ; 

Grass a-growing in the meadows 
Just as green as green can be ; 

Violets in shady places. — 

Sweetest flowers were ever seen ! — 
Hosts of starry dandelions, — 

" Drops of gold among the green ! ' 

Pale arbutus, fairy wind-flowers, 
Innocents in smiling flocks ; 

Coolest ferns within the hollows, 
Columbines among the rocks ; 

Dripping streams, delicious mosses, 

Tassels on the maple-trees ; 
Drowsy insects, humming, humming; 

Golden butterflies, and bees ; 

Daffodils in garden borders, 
Fiery tulips dashed with dew : 

Crocus-flowers; and, through the greenness, 
Snow-drops looking out at you ! 

59 6 



By W. W. Fink. 

Part I. 


" NONSENSE, Tommy ! Start a public library 
in Migglesville ? Books cost money, my boy, and 
people in this town don't spend money that way. 
They would n't subscribe ten dollars." 

Mr. Glen was evidently out of patience with 
Migglesville ; but seeing the look of disappointment 
on his son's face, he said : 

" What books do you want?" 

" I would rather not tell," said Tommy, with a 
firm expression on his pinched, white face ; for he 
was a cripple, and his face showed the marks of 
suffering and ill-health. " You are not able to 
buy books for me, but I think I can start a public 

'" Well, well," said Mr. Glen, good-naturedly, 
"try it if you like, but don't be disappointed if 
you fail ; for remember, we are living in Miggles- 
ville now." And he went away, feeling that he 
would hear no more of the library. 

Migglesville was a small town, and, what was 
worse for Tommy's undertaking, it was well-nigh 
a dead town. It was discouraged. The county- 
seat had gone to Kitesboro', six miles away. The 
railroad, if one ever came to the county, would be 
sure to go to Kitesboro'. There was talk of a 
seminary at Kitesboro', and they already had 
graded schools there. Migglesville had nothing 
but old houses and bad luck. Yet it was here that 
Tommy Glen planned to start a public library. 

"How many books would be a library?" he 
said to himself as he balanced his crutch across 
his knee. 

Then he turned to his dictionary and read, 

' Iii'lirnry, )t. 

Ilootion of books." 

" It does n't say a hundred nor a thousand," 
said he, " but a collection." 

So he turned to the word collection, and read, 
"Collection. " 2. That which is gathered or rtra ivd together." 

Suddenly he felt that he must scream ; he had 
such a happy idea! He threw on his hat, took 
his crutch, and started off to sec Willie Groome. 
He knew that Willie's constant desire was to read 
Gordon's " South Africa," that he thought of it by 
day and dreamed of lion-hunting by night. Willie 
was at work in his father's garden. 

" Heigho, Tommy," he said, as the latter ap- 

" Say, Will," said Tommy, with nervous direct- 
ness, " what book would you rather read than any 
other book in the world ? " 

" Gordon's ' South Africa,' " answered Willie, 

" Then why don't you buy it ? " asked Tommy. 

" Father says it would be foolish for me to spend 
all my money on one book, and that only about 
lions and tigers and things." 

" Well, would n't he let you buy it if some more of 
us would buy a book apiece and exchange with you?" 

" W 7 hy, that would be a kind of a circulating 
library, Tommy," exclaimed Willie. 

" Of course it would." 

" But, Tommy, everybody 'd want to borrow 
our books, and we would n't have half a chance." 

" We would n't let 'em," said Tommy, em- 
phatically. " Nobody can get a book out of this 
library without putting one in." 

Just then Willie's father came toward them. 

" Glad to see you out, Tommy," he said pleas- 
antly. " Willie, you can stop work and play with 

" I did n't come to play, Mr. Groome ; I came 
on business," answered the lame boy. 

"On business! Whew! What kind of business?" 

Then Tommy explained his plan so clearly and 
enthusiastically that Mr. Groome said: 

" Yes ; Willie can buy the book. He has money 
enough of his own, and if by buying one book he 
can get several more to read, I should say that 
would be doing very well." 

"And wont you let him get it right away?" 
said Tommy, eagerly. " I am going to buy mine, 
but it wont be so showy as Tommy's, for his has 
pictures, and " 

"Oh, I see," said Mr. Groome, laughingly, 
"you want it, so that the other fellows can see 
what they will miss if they don't join in ?" 

Tommy confessed that such was his idea, and, 
with a hearty laugh at his "generalship," Mr. 
Groome left the boys with the promise that Willie 
could go to Kitesboro the next day and buy the 

The next day Willie came bounding into Tom- 
my's room with Gordon's " South Africa." 

In a minute the two boys were poring over its 

"Oh, look! Is n't that glorious!" exclaimed 
Willie, as they turned to the picture of a lion-hunt. 

Tommy was about to reply when, looking 



through the window, he saw Harry Lane and Si 
Milfoid across the street. 

" Just the boys I wanted to see. Please call 
them, Will." 

" Yes ; but they '11 be for looking all over the 
book, and we wont have half a chance," said Willie. 

"That's just what 1 want," answered Tommy. 
" Don't you see the point ? " 

Willie called them, but much against his own 

" What 's up ? " said Harry, as they entered the 

"The /ibra?y/" said Si, questioningly. 

" Yes. We 're a Library Association, and any 
one can join it by putting in one good book." 

" Oh, fiddle ! " said Si. " I don't buy books to 
give away. Not much ! " 

" All right," said Tommy, with a great show of 

" Ves; but I should say it would be very mean 
not to lend a fellow a book after you 'd read it," 
persisted Si. 

" And 1 should say it would be very mean to 


room, and the next moment he exclaimed : ' ' Whew ! 
Gordon's 'South Africa!' Whose is that?" 

" Willie bought it," said Tommy, "and I 'm to 
buy another book, and then we '11 exchange." 

"Say, boys, "said Si, "lend this book to me 
first, after you 've read it, wont you ? " 

"Not unless you buy a book, and put into the 
library with ours." said Tommv. 

want some one to buy books for you when you 
were not willing to return the compliment," said 
Harry Lane, with some warmth. "I '11 buy a 
book to get into this arrangement. Let 's see. 
Fifteen or twenty fellows would be fifteen or twenty 
books that we could all read by buying one apiece. 
Tommy, what are you going to buy ? " 

Now Prescott's " Conquest of Mexico" was the 




great desire of Tommy's heart, and he had talked 
so much about it with Harry and Si that he knew 
they were as anxious to read it as he was. 

So he said : " I will buy one volume of ' Prescott ' 
if you will buy another." 

"I '11 buy one," said Harry. " Si, you '11 buy 
another, wont you ? " 

" No, you don't." exclaimed Si. 

" Don't what ?" asked Harry. 

" I said I would n't go into this thing, and 
I wont," said Si, with an injured air. 

" Well, we don't wish to force you to buy a 
book, Si," said Tommy, pleasantly. 

Just then he called their attention to the picture 
of a lion-hunt, and they all bent over him to see it. 

" Goodness !" he exclaimed, "don't smother a 
fellow ! " 

" Then read something out loud," cried Si. 

"All right. Sit down and 1 will." 

They all ranged themselves before him, and he 
began reading : 

" The hunters were now in the jungle, and they 
could hear the lion's deep and terrible roar. Sud- 
denly there was a crashing of tangled underbrush, 
and the king of beasts sprang madly forward from 
his lair. The natives scattered in terror, leaving the 
intrepid white man to receive the charge alone ; but 
with wonderful coolness he dropped upon one knee, 
and bringinghis rifle to his face, took deliberate aim, 
and pulled the trigger, but his gun missed fire ! " 

By this time, Willie's stubby hair was standing 
fiercely erect, in delightful horror. Harry's eyes 
were nearly as large as sauce-dishes, while Si 
was holding his breath, working the muscles of his 
face and clenching his fists in utter disregard of his 
personal appearance. 

But just at this point, Tommy closed the book 
on his finger, and said quietly : " Come to think 
of it, this is n't according to the rules." 

" What is n't according to the rules ? " exclaimed 
his listeners, almost fiercely. 

" Reading a library book to outsiders," replied 

" Oh, go on ! " cried Si. 

" Don't do it," said Harry. "Our rules wont 
allow it, unless Si will agree to buy the other 
volume of ' Prescott.' " 

" Well, i '11 — 1 '11 do it, said Si. " Read on." 

Tommy read very gladly after this, until the 
lion lay dead at the hunter's feet. 

Then they fell to planning in good earnest. Si 
was nc\w as enthusiastic as any of them. He and 
Tomihy gave Harry their share of the money to 
buy " Prescott," and the next day found them all 
together again with the cherished volumes before 

them. They had a library ! and they decided to 
call themselves the Migglesville Library Associa- 
tion. Among other rules which they adopted were 
the following : 

" ist. Any one can become a life member by con- 
tributing a book costing two dollars, a book costing 
less than that only giving a membership for one year. 

"2d. Two or more persons may club together to 
buy expensive books, so that membership need 
not cost more than two dollars. 

"3d. No book will be received which is either 
vulgar or silly, but " ( as Tommy put it) " ' a book 
can be as funny or adventuresome as it pleases.' " 

Not many days passed before the neighbors be- 
gan wondering why so many boys were going in 
to see Tommy Glen. And it was also remarked 
that boys who had never been known to work be- 
fore were buzzing around like hornets, hunting 
jobs, cutting wood, raking hay, — anything to earn 
money. Was Migglesville waking up ? Had there 
been a reformation, — or was there a circus coming? 

The book-seller at Kitesboro' noticed a great 
improvement in his trade ; and, what was very 
strange, nearly every one to whom he sold a book 
was a Migglesville boy, or a Migglesville girl; for 
the girls had taken the library fever, and were as 
anxious to buy books as the boys. 

Occasionally some one would be refractory, 
wishing to borrow books without becoming a 
member. But Tommy's rules and Tommy's tact 
conquered this difficulty also. 

The farmers' boys caught the spirit, and came to 
the library from miles around. 

Tommy's mother had entered heartily into the 
work, and made everything agreeable in Tommy's 
room for all who came. Mr. Glen was away on busi- 
ness, and as yet knew nothing of his son's success. 

When it was noised abroad that the boys had 
started a library, there was general astonishment. 

A library in Migglesville ! Some older people 
slipped in to see what it meant, and found so 
many interesting books that they were glad to buy 
" a book apiece " and join the Association. 

When Mr. Glen returned to Migglesville, almost 
the first question he asked was: " Well, Tommy, 
how about that library?" 

" Most of our books are out," said Tommy, so 
much excited that he could not stop to explain, at 
the same time leading the way to his room. 

Mr. Glen looked at the books and rubbed his 
eyes to be sure that he was not dreaming. 

" Here is our list," said Tommy. 

" ' Here is our list ! ' " repeated Mr. Glen in be- 
wilderment. Then he ran his eyes down the 
column. It contained a total of ninety-nine vol- 
umes, and their cost footed up $150.00 ! 

" Who subscribed all this money ?" said he. 



" Nobody," answered Tommy. 

" Then, where on earth did these books come 
from ? " 

Tommy told the story of the library, 

" If you had tried to raise a subscription, you 
would have failed," said Mr. Glen. "Tommy, 
you are a general ! I am proud of you ! Your 
library will do great things for Migglesville." 

The next day, there was the regular meeting of 
the Library Association ; and just as Tommy had 
finished reading his report, something happened 
which made the library of much more importance 
to Migglesville than any one could have believed, 
although at the time it seemed of no consequence, 
beyond the fact that it was very funny : 

The door opened and a poorly clad, broad- 
faced, stupid-looking boy of fifteen walked into the 
room with a book under his arm. 

This was Johnny Haven. Any one would have told 
you that he was the dullest boy in town ; not that he 
\yps a fool. He seemed ordinarily bright when it 
came to work or play, but he never knew his les- 
sons at school. He was the laughing-stock of much 
smaller boys ; and some of the more cruel called 
him to his face, the " Migglesville Dunce." 

No one had thought of asking him to join the 
Library Association ; but he had worked, earned 
money, bought a book, and here he was. 

"Hello, Johnny," whispered a boy beside him, 
" are you in this thing, too ? " 

" No ; but I 'd like to be," replied Johnny. 

"Got a book?" 


" Well, why don't you hand it in ? " 

" Is that the way to do ? " 

"Yes; go right up." And as Johnny walked 
forward, the boy turned and winked at some of his 
fellows. There was a good deal of curiosity to 
know what kind of book Johnny Haven had brought; 
and when Tommy took it and read its title, " Ele- 
ments of Geology," there was a burst of laughter, 
in which even the gentlemen and ladies present 
were forced to jom. If his book had been a 
Chinese grammar, it could not have astonished 
them more. 

But only one, Job Spencer, was mean enough 
to say : 

" Well, Professor Haven, that book may do 
for a wise man like you ; but the rest of us are not 
that far along. Guess you 'd better take it home." 

Few laughed at his heartless speech, however. 

"What book did yon put in?" demanded 

"Robinson Crusoe." 

"Well," said Johnny, "this geology is worth 
forty Robinson Crusoes ! " 

There was another laugh, but Dr. Brownlow 

said quickly, " Johnny is right. If I had to take 
my choice between any half-dozen books in this 
excellent library, and a geology, I would take 
the geology. I hope you will accept Johnny's 
offer, and that others may contribute books on 
kindred subjects. I intend doing so myself, pro- 
vided von take Johnny in." 

Of course Johnny was admitted, but there was 
much merry-making at his expense. Even the 
other books in the library seemed to laugh at his 
geology; yet we will see how long their laughter 

Part 11. 
the "migglesville dunce." 

We must go back a little from the time when 
Johnny Haven set the boys and girls of Miggles- 
ville to laughing by bringing a geology to the 

Poor Johnny was always at the foot of his class. 
It was not a graded school, and not a very good 
one of its kind: but it did manage to have an 
examination at the close of the year. 

Mr. Haven had been watching his son's lack of 
progress with deepening mortification and sorrow; 
but when examination day came, and Johnny 
failed in everything, his chagrin was keen indeed. 

"Johnny," he said, after it was all over and 
they were at home, "what is the matter? You 
hardly answered a question, and yet you did not 
seem to care." 

Johnny seldom betrayed any emotion, but now 
his lip quivered and his cheek flushed. 

" 1 do care ! " he exclaimed ; " but do you sup- 
pose I am going to show it ? " 

The words were like music in his parent's ears. 
It was not indifference after all, but grit. 

" Father," he said. " have n't I studied hard ? " 

'" Yes, my boy, hard enough to have committed 
all your books to memory." 

" I know a good deal more than they think I 
do," said Johnny ; " but when I come to recite I 
get bothered ; they laugh at me, and I forget it 
all. I want to leave school ! " 

" Leave school ! " exclaimed Mr. Haven. 

" Yes, sir; and study at home." 

■■ Why not study at school?" 

" Because they make me study too many things 
at once. I was n't made to study everything at once. 
I "d rather know one thing well than forty things 
a little. I don't want to go to that school any 
more ! " he continued, almost fiercely. " But if 
you '11 let me study at home, I 11 show you that I 
can learn a great deal of one thing while they are 
learning a little of everything." 

" Perhaps you are right. Johnny," said Mr. 




Haven. "Asa rule, it is better for boys and girls 
to go to school and lay a broad foundation for an 
education. Still, if you can't get on at school, you 
can try studying at home. But what put this idea 
into your head ? " 

" I thought it out," said Johnny. " And then 
when Will Regan came home from college and 
could n't pass an examination for teacher at Kites- 
boro', and did n't know enough for county sur- 
veyor, and could n't keep books or do anything 
else, I thought it would have been much better 
for him if he had known just one thing well." 

" Well, my boy, what do you wish to know 
well ? " 

" Geology." 

"Geology! Why?" 

" Because I know I should like it, and then I 
was reading the other day that a practical geolo- 
gist could make a good living." 

" But you will need to understand other things 
before you can master geology," said Mr. Haven. 

" Then I can learn them," said Johnny, his 
eyes shining like stars. 

So he had his father's consent to try his plan, 
and the Migglesville school lost its dunce. 

People said Mr. Haven was wise in taking 
Johnny from school, for he could learn nothing. 
They did not know that Johnny was studying harder 
than any other boy in town. 

Dr. Brownlow contributed a zoology, a botany, 
and an advanced work on geology to the library, 
and induced others to contribute other scientific 

A year passed, and still the library grew. 
Tommy Glen had his hands full, all the books he 
could read, and the glorious consciousness that he 
was doing good in Migglesville. 

The thought sent the blood flying through his 
veins, and as it rushed along, it began picking up 
and throwing away little particles of unhealthy 
muscle and bone, leaving in their stead larger and 
healthier particles. 

The library was also at work in the sluggish 
body of Migglesville. The old town waked up, 
rubbed its eyes, washed its face, combed its hair, 
and felt better. Weeds suffered where they had 
previously flourished ; fences at which cows had 
laughed now laughed at the cows. Then Miggles- 
ville waked up a little more, and organized a 
Lyceum ; a little more, and graded schools were 

Few thought of Johnny Haven. Tommy Glen 
noticed that he always drew some scientific work 
from the library, and felt very sorry for the poor 
boy who seemed so anxious to read hard books 
which he never could understand. A genuine, 
friendship grew up between them, but it sprung 

from sympathy for each other's misfortunes. Still, 
fearing to wound Johnny's feelings, Tommy never 
tried to find out how much the former knew about 
the books he was reading, and Johnny never told. 

He spent a great deal of time roving up and 
down the river, and over the hills, beating stones 
to pieces and carrying them home — for playthings ; 
so it seemed to the people of Migglesville. 

But he knew every ledge of rock along the river 
for miles each way, and the little pieces he carried 
home were specimens for his cabinet. 

When he came to a difficult question, he took 
hold of it like a bull-dog, and never let go until he 
had mastered it. 

He was not dull. He was one-ideaed, and one- 
ideaed people have always been the moving spirits 
of the world. He found that a knowledge of bot- 
any and zoology was essential to the understand- 
ing of geology, and he attacked them. 

The pictures of the fossil remains of mastodons, 
mammoths, and other gigantic animals filled him 
with wonder. His study became more enchanting 
than the wildest romance. 

One da) - word came to town that Mr. Martin, 
whose farm adjoined Migglesville, had found an 
enormous tooth, a mammoth's tooth, "as large as 
a water-bucket." 

People flocked to see it. Few had ever seen 
anything of the kind, but all agreed it must be a 
mammoth's tooth, — it was so large ! 

Just then some one began laughing. 

"There comes the Migglesville dunce! Now 
we '11 find out all about it," said Job Spencer. 

And Johnny came bounding from the town, 
bareheaded, his hair flying in the wind, and his 
eyes shining like stars. 

"Where is it?" he cried, bolting through the 

"Here it is, Professor. Wont you give us a 
lecture on the mammoth ? " sneered Job. The 
secret of Job's hatred for Johnny was that, having 
tried to abuse Johnny some time before, he had 
received a sound flogging in return ; and he now 
only dared attack him with his tongue. 

Johnny fell on his knees before the tooth, rolled 
it over, ran his fingers nervously around it, and 
then raised it so as to see its crown. 

" It is n't a mammoth's tooth at all ! " he cried. 
" It 's a mastodon's." 

" Oh ! Of course you know all about it at first 
sight ! " sneered Job. 

"Yes, sir; I do know. A mammoth's tooth is 
nearly smooth, like an elephant's, for they were 
nothing but big elephants ; but a mastodon's tooth 
is covered with pointed knobs, just like this, and 
it is a mastodon's tooth." 

" Johnny is right ! " said Dr. Brownlow with sud- 


60 1 

den energy. " I had forgotten the distinction, but 
Johnny has not. This is the tooth of a mastodon." 

" Well, it 's all he does know," persisted Job. 

" May be it is," said Johnny, quietly; then, turn- 
ing to Mr. Martin, he asked eagerly, " What will 
you take for that tooth ? " 

Mr. Martin looked puzzled. " What '11 you 
give ? " he asked, by way of reply. 

" I '11 work a month for it," said Johnny. 

As time passed by, he earned money to buy 
books ; and after awhile he had the best scientific 
library in town. 

He was now nineteen, and was growing a little 
mustache. People said, " It is a wonder how John- 
ny Haven has improved in looks," and " What a 
pity it is that he should be so dull ! " 

He spent more time than ever on the hills and 
along the river. True, he worked very hard when 




Work a 

Then there was another 
month for an old tooth ! " 

" I reckon it 's hardly worth all that," said Mr. 
Martin. " Work a week, and you can have it." 

" All right," said Johnny. The crowd dispersed, 
very much amused at the whole affair. 

Yet no one had any idea that Johnny knew 
much more than he had shown that day. 

Hut in the room in his father's house to which 
he carried his precious relic was a very complete 
collection of the rocks and plants of the country for 
miles around. 


his father needed him, or when he hired out to 
some one else ; but he was frequently absent on his 
odd excursions for days together. 

About this time, Migglesville surprised itself by 
voting a tax to buy more books for the library, 
making it free for all, and paying Tommy Glen a 
salary as librarian. 

A little later, Kitesboro' became excited. The 
railroad was coming ! It was still a hundred miles 
away, but it was coming. The engineers had been 
in the neighborhood, mapping out the line ; and 
Kitesboro' being the chief town within a section of 

Vol. XI. 





fifty miles, they had planned to run the railroad 
through — so the officers said — if — if Kitesboro' 
would give the right of way, station-grounds, and 
fifty thousand dollars ! 

Then Kitesboro' sat down and laughed. The 
idea ! The railroad would come, anyway. Could n't 
afford to miss Kitesboro'. Kitesboro' would n't give 
a cent to induce the railroad to come. 

Every one burned wood in all that country, for 
there was plenty of it. No one thought of coal — 
no one except johnny Haven. 

When he heard of the railroad, he thought of 
coal for the engines and for shipping to the great 
plains out West where the road was going. 

"According to geology" said he to himself, 
" there ought to be coal here." 

He read his books again on the subject of the 
coal formations, and then he disappeared from 
Migglesville almost altogether. People saw him 
leaving town early every morning with some 
tools on his shoulder, but thought nothing of it. 
Only his parents knew what he was doing. 

The railroad engineers were at work twenty 
miles east of Kitesboro', surveying lines in various 
directions, to make the people of Kitesboro' think 
they were going somewhere else. 

One day, a young man with a little mustache 
rode into their camp and began asking questions. 

" Where do you get your coal? " he said to one 
of the officers of the road. 

"At B , three hundred miles east of this." 

" I can show you a fine vein of coal not far from 
here," said the young man. 

This brought the railroad men about him, and 
the questions flew thick and fast from both sides. 

He did not tell them where the coal was, ex- 
cept that the railroad could easily reach it without 
bridging the river. To reach Kitesboro', they would 
have to build a very expensive bridge. 

After a hurried consultation, some of the respon- 
sible officers of the road were telegraphed and 
soon appeared, accompanied by an experienced 
mining engineer, and started with the young man 
toward Migglesville. 

When they reached that place, they went directly 
to Mr. Haven's house. 

Papers were drawn up and signed, in which it was 
agreed that, if certain things were just so, they would 
do so and so ; after which they all rode down the 
river to a tract of land which Mr. Haven had often 
tried to sell, but could not, because it was so broken. 

When they returned, more papers were signed ; 
after which the railroad men bought a large tract 
of land in the edge of Migglesville, and a great 
many corner lots, for none of which they paid 
very much, since land, like everything else, was 
cheap in the poor old town. 

Then it was discovered that the railroad was 
coming to Migglesville. Migglesville threw up 
its hat and yelled for joy. 

Kitesboro', hearing the shout, became fright- 
ened, and raised the fifty thousand dollars, but 
was told to keep it. It raised seventy-five thou- 
sand, one hundred thousand, and sent a committee 
over to Migglesville to see the officers of the road. 

But their answer was : " We are coming to 
Migglesville. We have coal here, and that is 
worth more than forty Kitesboro's." 

" Coal ? " cried Migglesville. 

" Coal?" cried Kitesboro'. 

" Yes. Young Haven found it, and then he 
found us." 

" Coal ! Johnny Haven ! John-;/tY Haven ! 
Well, a fool for luck ! " 

But Migglesville said this under its breath. 

Before the railroad men left town, however, the 
mining engineer said to some of the citizens : 

" You ought to be proud of young Haven. He 
knows more about geology than any one of his 
age I ever saw. We are going to send him on 
ahead to look up the coal matters for the com- 

Then Migglesville waked up more than ever, 
and it is safe to say that before midnight, when 
the first people went to bed, the name of Johnny 
Haven had been pronounced two thousand times. 
Every one called him a genius. Within a week, 
at least a dozen young men, who had been skim- 
ming over all kinds of studies, bought geologies 
and began to realize how little they knew. 

A bank was started in Migglesville, and Mr. 
Haven deposited ten thousand dollars, one-half in 
Johnny's name. It was what he had received for 
the land he had not been able to sell until Johnny 
found coal on it. 

"Ten thousand dollars! Johnny Haven!" 
but no one said " a fool for luck" any more. 

Then the great day came, when the first train 
steamed into town. A great many Kitesboro' men 
were there, for Kitesboro' was moving over. 

On the train, among leading railroad men, came 
Johnny Haven, and when he stepped upon the 
platform he received a cheer that nearly took away 
his breath. 

A banquet followed, and speeches and toasts. 
But something was wrong. Whenever a speaker 
said " Migglesville," Migglesville hung its head. 
It was ashamed of its name. 

It did well enough so long as Migglesville was 
old and sleepy and shabby, but for a live railroad 
town, the center of what was to be a great coal 
trade, it would never do. 

And finally, it felt so badly about it that Dr. 
Brownlow, mounting a platform, said : 

i88 4 .J 



" I propose that we take the necessary steps 
toward changing the name of this town, and I 
hope that we may name it after the two young 
men who have done more than all others to make 
it what it is, and what it promises to be : 

" First, after Thomas Glen, who had the courage 
and genius to start a public library [applause] ; 
second, after John Haven, who, by his untiring 
energy and splendid abilities, made himself mas- 
ter, first of one and then of many things, and, by 

the light of that science he so dearly loves, guided 
the railroad to this town." 

Then Migglesville threw up its hat and jumped 
after it, and the sound of many voices was heard 
by the lonely watchers at Kitesboro'. 

And now, when Mr. John Haven, in charge of 
the U. S. Geological Survey in the Rocky Mount- 
ains, writes to his proud and happy parents, he 
does not address his letter to Migglesville, but to 
Glen Haven. 


By John R. Coryell. 

The snake-charmer uses music to subdue the 
poisonous cobra ; but that is not so very startling, 
for even if the snake be a horrid creature, there is 
something in its gliding grace which makes its 

liking for the sweet notes of the flute seem almost 
harmonious. As for the bird, the very thought 
of the dainty creature brings music to the mind. 
Then, again, stories which tell of dogs, horses, 
rabbits, or mice, even, appreciating and enjoying 
music do not seem at all incredible. But when it 
comes to saying that spiders like music, — Well, I 
do say that. 

A great many years ago, a prisoner of state, 
who was allowed to cheer the solitude of his dun- 
geon by playing on his flute, discovered after a 
while that, every time he played, a great number 
of spiders gathered about him. When he ceased 
playing, his audience immediately scampered back 
to their webs. Since that time, the liking of 
spiders for music has often been tested and proved. 
I myself would have been glad to play for a spider 
audience, but, to own the sad truth, I am not well 
enough acquainted with any musical instrument 
to coax a tune out of it. I did try several times 
to charm spiders by whistling to them ; but either 
it is true, as my friends say, that I do not know- 
how to whistle, or spiders do not care for that sort 
of music. 

Perhaps I would have given up trying to satisfy 
myself of the liking of spiders for music, had not 
a scientific gentleman of Europe given me a valu- 
able hint by an experiment of his own. He used 
a tuning-fork. Now I can play a tuning-fork as 
well as anybody. It is only necessary to hold the 
fork by the handle and rap one of the prongs 
against something hard. 

I procured a tuning-fork, and then sought out 
a spider to experiment on. I found a handsome, 
brand-new web, and though I did not see Mistress 




Epe'ira, I knew she must be at home. Epe'ira 
diadema is her full name, though most persons 
call her a garden spider. It is she who makes 
those beautiful, wheel-like webs which festoon the 
rose-bushes and trees. 

As I have said, Madame Spider was not \isible. 
I knew, however, she must be in her gossamer 
parlor, which is attached to her web, and which 
she uses for her own retiring-room. I am positive 
that the story which tells of how she invited a fly 
into her parlor is incorrect, for she keeps that 
sacred to her own use. 

Here was a good chance to try tuning-fork music. 
I rapped the fork on a stone, and in a moment a 
soft, melodious hum filled the air. I touched one 
of the spokes of the web with the fork. On the 
instant, Madame flew out of her parlor in great 
haste, hesitated a moment at the outer edge of the 
web, and then, instead of going straight to the 
tuning-fork, ran to the very center of the web. 

When there, she quickly caught hold of each of 
the spokes one after the other, and gave it a little 
tug, as a boy does his fishing-line to see if a fish is 
hooked. Each was passed by until she came to 
the spoke upon which the humming fork rested. 
There she stopped, and it was easy to see she was 
excited. She gave the whole web a shake ; then 
tugged at the spoke again. " Hum-m-m-m " still 
sang the fork, rather faintly now-, however. 

Madame was satisfied. Her mind was made 
up. Down she darted and caught the end of the 
fork in her arms. She tried to bite into the hard 
metal, and at the same time she spun a web of 
silk around and around the two prongs, which by 
this time had ceased vibrating. 

I pulled the fork away, and Madame Epe'ira 
retired in disappointment to the center of the web. 
But if she was disappointed, so was I, for I was 
satisfied that it was not the music of the fork that 
had attracted her. Unfortunately, it was alto- 
gether too probable that she mistook the hum of 
the fork for the buzz of a fly, — a sort of music no 
doubt very sweet to her. 

Time after time I repeated the experiment with 
the fork, touching in turn each spoke of the web, 
and each time Madame Spider was deluded into 
trying to capture the tuning-fork. It was odd that 
she did not learn wisdom by repeated disappoint- 
ment. If she did not become wiser, however, 
she certainly did become angrier at each failure 
to take prisoner the humming intruder into her 

If I had known how to play the flute instead of 
the tuning-fork, I might have learned more about 
the musical, tastes of spiders; but as it is, I am 
willing to believe what others say, that spiders do 
like music, and to admit that I made my experi- 
ment with the wrong instrument. 


By Palmer Cox. 

One time, a restless Brownie band 
Resolved to leave the Scottish strand. 
And visit Orkney Island green, 
That in the distance might be seen, 
When seas were calm and fogs withdrew, 
A speck above the ocean blue. 

In answer to a summons wide, 

The Brownies came from every side — 

From hills that overlook the sea, 

And from the braes of Doon and Dee ; 

A novel spectacle they made, 

All mustered in the forest shade : 

With working implements they came, 

Of every fashion, use, and name — 

For turn his hand a Brownie can 

To all the handicrafts of man. 

Soon, one who seemed to be a chief 
Addressed the band in language brief: 

' From lofty peaks how oft have we 
Surveyed those islands in the sea, 
And longed for means to thither sail 
And ramble over hill and vale ! 
That pleasure rare we may command, 
Without the aid of human hand. 
So, Brownies young and Brownies old. 
Prepare yourselves for action bold. 
A heavy task before you lies, 
That well might weaker folk surprise ; 
For ere the faintest streak of gray 
Has advertised the coming day, 
A sturdy craft, both tough and tall, 
With masts and halyards, shrouds and all, 

T 1 1 K 1 1 R C ) W N I E S V O Y A G E . 

6o c 

With sails to spread, and helm to guide. 
Completed from the ways shall glide. 
No second night may Brownies plan 
To finish what the first began. 

And every skillful stroke that fell 
Without exception counted well. 
While some were spiking planks and beams. 
The calkers stuffed the yawning seams, 

And poured the resin left 

and right, 
To make her stanch and 

A crowd were busy bring- 
ing nails. 
And bolts of canvas for 

the sails, 
And coils of rope of every 

To make the ratlines, 

shrouds, and guys. 
It mattered little whence 

it came, 
Or who a loss of stock 

might claim ; 
Supply kept even with 


With axes, hammers, 

saws, and rules, 
Dividers, squares, and 

boring tools, 
The active Brownies 

scattered 'round, 
And every one his labor 


Some fell to chopping 

down the trees, 
And some to hewing 

ribs and knees ; 
While more the heavy 

keelson made, 
And fast the shapely 

hull was laid. 
Then over all they 

clambered soon. 
Like bees around their 

hive in June. 


'T was hammer, hammer, here and there, 
And rip and racket everywhere. 
As each good Brownie did his best, 
Nor gave himself a moment's rest. 

'T was marvelous to see how fast 
The vessel was together cast ; 
Now here a touch, and there a blow, 
And tier on tier it seemed to grow, 




Until, with all its rigs and stays, 
It sat prepared to leave the ways. 
It but remained to name it now. 
And break a bottle on her bow, 
To knock the wedges from the side, 
And from the keel, and let it slide. 

But, as when dangers do assail 

The human kind, though some may quail, 

There will be found a few to face 

The danger, and redeem the race ; 

So, some brave Brownies nobly stood 

And manned the ship as best they could ; 

And when it rode upon the sea, 
The Brownies thronged the deck with glee, 
And veering 'round in proper style, 
They bore away for Orkney Isle. 

But those who will the ocean brave 
Should be prepared for wind and wave ; 
For storms will rise, as many know, 
When least we look for squall or blow. 
And soon the sky was overcast, 
And waves were running high and fast ; 
Then some were sick and some were filled 
With fears that all their ardor chilled ; 
And some retired the decks between, 
And took no interest in the scene. 

Some staid on deck to sound for bars ; 
Some went aloft to watch for stars ; 
And some around the rudder hung. 
And here and there the vessel swung . 
While others, strung on yard and mast, 
Kept shifting sails to suit the blast. 

Now, with the keel almost in sight, 
It listed left and listed right ; 
At times, the stem was high in air, 
And next the stern was lifted there. 
So thus it tumbled, tossed, and rolled, 
And shipped enough to fill the hold. 
Till more than once it seemed as though 
To feed the fish they all must go. 




But still they bravely tacked and veered, For now the ship to ruin flew, 

And hauled, and reefed, and onward steered ; As though it felt its work was through, 

While screaming birds around them wheeled, And soon it stranded, pitch and toss, 

As though they thought their doom was sealed ; Upon the rocks, a total loss. 

And hungry gar and hopeful shark The masts and spars went by the board - 

In shoals pursued the creaking bark, The hull was shivered like a gourd ! 



BRf! ik.r v 

■^#MP 5j>""v- -~<'k<,^iA - ~i^in"W^^f~W^* , 

Still wondering how it braved a gale 
That might have made Columbus pale. 

The rugged island, near them now, 
Was looming on their starboard bow ; 
But knowing not the proper way 
Of entering its sheltered bay, 
They simply kept their canvas spread, 
And steered the vessel straight ahead. 
The birds seemed winded in the race, 
The gar and shark gave up the chase. 
And turning back, forsook the keel, 
And lost their chances of a meal. 

But now, on broken plank and rail, 
On splintered spars and bits of sail 
That strewed for miles the rugged strand, 
The Brownies safely reached the land. 

Now, Brownies lack the power, 't is said, 
Of duplicating aught they Ye made ; 
When once a task is all complete, 
No more may they the work repeat. 
So all their efforts were in vain 
To build and launch a ship again; — 
And on that island, roaming 'round. 
That Brownie band may still be found. 






By Helen Gray Cone. 


UPON a showery night and still. 

Without a sound of warning, 
A trooper band surprised the hill, 

And held it in the morning. 
We were not waked by bugle-notes. 

No cheer our dreams invaded ; 
And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats 

On the green slopes paraded. 

We careless folk the deed forgot ; 

Till one day, idly walking, 
We marked upon the self-same spot 

A crowd of veterans talking. 
They shook their trembling heads and gray 

With pride and noiseless laughter ; 
When, well-a-day ! they blew away, 

And ne'er were heard of, after ! 


I pray you answer me : 

What may you all be doing 

So far away from sea ? 

We 're loitering by the road-sides, 
We 're lingering on the hills, 

To talk with pretty Daisies 
In stiff and snowy frills. 

And though our blue be ragged, 
Right welcome still are we 

To tell the nodding lasses 
Long tales about the sea ! " 

i8S 4 .] 




By I. C. Montague. 

GUSTAVUS Kean is my cousin; but that is not 
the reason I am writing about him. Perish the 
thought ! I have no foolish pride in my rela- 
tives, and I relate his experiences only in the hope 
that they may afford warning and encouragement 
to other boys. 

The one blight upon Gustavus Kean's young 
life was the shadow cast by his spelling-book. To 
an unprejudiced mind this book was very much 
like any other spelling-book, but to his agonized 
eye it seemed exactly five miles square, and there 
were days when its shadow blotted every ray of 
sunlight from his saddened existence. Do not 
jump to the hasty conclusion that Gustavus could 
not spell. Bless the boy ! For pure brilliancy, 
copiousness and ease in spelling, for downright 
creativeness, I have never met (and 1 hope I never 
may meet) his equal. But the trouble was that 
these finished productions of his differed radically 
and entirely from the standards of good spelling 
as set forth in the dictionaries. Gustavus thought 
this little fact a trifle unworthy of his notice. He 
did not quarrel with those who spelled differently 
from him, but he pitied those narrow minds who 
could see beauty in only one set form. He had a 
broad, catholic mind, himself; he eschewed all 
help from spelling-books and dictionaries, and he 
was by all odds the very worst speller, for a boy 
thirteen years old, in all America. 

At last, matters came to a crisis. He wrote a 
letter to his rich uncle in Boston, which so far 
exceeded any of his earlier productions that his 
uncle groaned and turned pale as he read it. The 
next day came a letter to Mrs. Kean. In it was 
the following paragraph : 

" Gustavus's spelling is simply dreadful. It is 
atrocious. Something must be done for him, at 
once. If he can not be brought to look differently 
upon this matter, he must change his name, and 
I will start him on a ranch in Texas. I can not 
face a frowning world with the consciousness that 
one who passes as my nephew is densely ignorant 
of the very rudiments of his mother-tongue." 

Naturally, this troubled Mrs. Kean very much, 
and when Gustavus came home late that after- 
noon, radiant at having beaten every boy on the 
block in repeated velocipede-races, and blissfully 
ignorant of the cruel fate in store for him, she 
showed him his uncle's letter, and expressed her 
regret at this state of things. Gustavus assumed 
a pensive and gently regretful attitude, and his 

expression plainly said, "If Uncle Tom were not 
such a kind man in other matters, I could find it 
in my heart to scorn him for his narrow-minded- 
ness in this particular." His father talked to him 
long and seriously ; his mother grew pathetic, and 
worked upon his finer feelings to such an extent 
that he was on the verge of tears. But just at this 
moment his elder sister unfortunately remarked 
that a bad speller was a positive disgrace to a 
family, which so restored his moral tone, and 
roused the slumbering pride within him, that he 
gathered his almost shattered forces together, 
delivered an oration of great length and fire, 
hurled defiance at all makers of dictionaries, and 
finally left the room with much pomp and dignity. 

Nevertheless, the next morning he carried to 
school a note from his mother, which implored his 
teacher to give the most rigorous and unceasing 
attention to his spelling, in future ; and from that 
hour Gustavus Kean was a blighted boy. Column 
after column of words did he learn by heart one 
day, only to entirely forget them in less than 
twenty-four hours. Sheet after sheet of paper did he 
cover with dictation exercises ; letter after letter did 
he write to imaginary relatives from imaginary rest- 
ing-places in Europe. And all to no purpose. Gus- 
tavus and the covers of his spelling-book grew limp 
together, and he had exactly seventy-six mistakes 
in his last exercise. Almost every day he was 
"kept in " at school during the pleasantest hours 
of the afternoon, and the haunts of his former play- 
grounds knew him no more. Another boy won 
the championship of the velocipede-races ; and one 
day, when the boys were having a snow-ball fight, 
Charlie Aiken broke a pane of glass in one of old 
Mr. Blanchard's windows, and Gustavus — oh, 
bitter thought ! — was not there to see the scrim- 
mage which followed. 

Matters went on in this way for quite awhile, 
the heart of Gustavus growing daily more heavy 
within him, and his frequent wish being that his 
existence had never entered into the plan of Provi- 
dence. At last, a very little thing caused an explo- 
sion. His teacher pleasantly informed him that 
" clam " was not spelled " clam<!»." Here Gustavus 
felt himself touched at a tender point. He had been 
fond of clam-soup all his life, and he had always 
spelled the word "clamb." He could not bring him- 
self to believe that he was wrong. There was a 
strange error somewhere, but assuredly he was not 
the person at fault — it must be the teacher! He 




argued the point well and brilliantly ; but, like 
Pharaoh of old, the teacher's mind seemed hard- 
ened, and she would not be convinced. The 
argument soon grew more heated, a stormy scene 
followed, and I should not like to tell you how 
many times he was obliged, that afternoon, to 
write the word clam on the blackboard — without 
the final "b." 

Bitterness had now eaten into the very soul of 
Gustavus. He went home late that afternoon, 
bristling with defiance, and breathing fire and fury 
against all mankind. His further proceedings were 
wrapped in mystery ; he avoided his parents and 
sister, and the gloom and ceremony with which 
he bade the cook good-night, as she met him 
coming out of the store-room, would have made 
the fortune of any tragic actor. As his parents were 
occupied with visitors, he was enabled to carry out 
his own designs unmolested, and to his great satis- 
faction. Later than usual he went to bed ; a few 
last preparations were made, the light was put 
out, and quiet settled down upon the little hall 
bedroom on the third story. 

Mrs. Kean looked in on her son and heir, as 
was her custom, before going to her own room 
for the night. She lighted the gas, and there lay 
the young Gustavus curled into a ball of rosy com- 
fort, sleeping the sleep of the just, and dreaming 
as placidly of the new goat and cart he hoped to 
have in the spring, as if he were not the projector 
of dark and deadly schemes for the morrow. Mrs. 
Kean gazed at him with pride and affection : for. 
strange as it may appear to outsiders, mothers do 
seem to be fond of their boys, even if they are bad 

But why did she suddenly look surprised and 
startled ? 

There, carefully spread on a chair, lay Gustavus's 
Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes in formidable array, 
and on the floor, at the foot of his bed, stood an 
immense, covered peach-basket — a veteran that 
had seen much service, and the stability of the han- 
dle of which could not be counted upon. And what 
a medley of things in the basket ! — A pair of stout 
trousers, and a blue flannel shirt with red lacings, 
and a large red neck-tie, — Gustavus always had 
a fine eye for color, — a red polo-cap, a small 
hatchet, some nails and cord, crackers, potted 
meat, a small box of guava jelly, and a conspicu- 
ous absence of under-clothes. This plainly indi- 
cated a trip to Texas, and preparations for ranch- 

Next came an autograph album, an old opera- 
glass of his sister's (with a cracked lens), a 
paper of morning-glory seeds, and a Jew's-harp, — 
and, at the very bottom of the basket, dirtier and 
limper than ever, lay the despised spelling-book. 

Plainly, Gustavus did not intend to neglect the arts 
and sciences in his new life. 

Naturally, Mrs. Kean was very much troubled 
at this discovery, and I think she must have in- 
dulged in a little cry, and so dimmed her eye- 
sight, otherwise she would never have dropped the 
opera-glass on the floor. Of course the noise 
awoke Gustavus. For one blessed moment he 
thought it must be Christmas-eve. and that his 
mother was arranging his presents by his bedside, 
according to her time-honored custom. But this 
sweetly consoling thought was quickly dispelled by 
his eye falling on the hatchet. He took in the 
situation at once, and saw that, for the present, he 
was the hero of a lost cause. 

He rose to explain his position with dignity ; 
but when his mother, in a very soft and muffled 
voice, exclaimed : 

" Oh, Gustavus ! How could you think of leav- 
ing me? " he was cut to the quick at the thought 
of his base ingratitude, and, lifting up his voice, 
he wept. 

What a pathetic scene then followed ! I think 
that I could wring your very heart-strings if I chose 
to describe it ; but I will spare you. I will merely 
say that they had a good, comfortable crying-time 
together ; that Gustavus explained all his woes to 
his mother, even to the recent clam-insult, and 
vowed with ardor that nothing but the most un- 
heard-of course of severity from his teacher, and 
the blackest dejection on his own part, could have 
induced him to look with favor upon the Texas 

His mother gave him the fullest sympathy, 
but at the same time impressed upon him 
the necessity of the stand which his teacher had 
taken. Gustavus was in a wondrously meek and 
impressionable state of mind, — the exertion of 
packing that basket had been too much for his 
nervous system, — and, for once in his life, he felt 
that the arguments of the other side might deserve 
some attention. A delicate suggestion that a little 
less obstinacy and greater application to study 
might appreciably soften the hardness of his lot, 
was received with favor, and Gustavus went to 
sleep for the second time that night, at peace 
with all mankind, with his spelling-book under his 
pillow, and a firm resolution lodged in his manly 
breast to get up early the next morning, and learn 
all the easy words in the dictionary beginning with 
" q," before breakfast-time. 

Gustavus felt a little delicacy about meeting the 
family the next morning ; but, to his great relief, 
no notice was taken of his adventurous schemes, 
and joy and serenity reigned at the family board. 
A fearful pang seized him at school when he 
opened his lunch-basket and saw that identical box 

i88 4 .] 



of guava jelly staring him in the face. For a mo- 
ment it seemed as if he should be eaten up with 
remorse ; but the proud consciousness that he had 
not missed one word in his spelling-lesson that day 
revived his drooping spirits, and he quickly de- 
cided that the jelly, and not he, should be the 
victim, and that remorse must look out for itself. 

That night, as he lay on the rug before the fire 
in his sister's room, she ventured to say : 

" Why were you going to take your spelling- 
book with you, Gustavus ? I thought that was 
just the sort of thing you were trying to get away 

Gustavus looked at her fixedly for a moment, 
and then replied, with fine scorn : 

" That 's just like a girl ! They always think 
a fellow does n't care anything about his educa- 
tion unless he grinds away at it all the time. Of 
course, I always intended to learn how to spell, 
sometime. " 

After this cutting rebuke, there was silence for 
a few minutes; then, with the courage of one 
willing to die in the pursuit of knowledge, she 
persisted in questioning him, further, about his 
projected plans. 

At first she was met with proud reserve; but 
finally he melted, and told her that it was his 
uncle's letter which had suggested the Texas plan. 
It was his idea to work his way out West, and then 
take possession of a ranch, and build himself a 

log-hut. He was greatly surprised to hear that 
a ranch was not a well-cultivated plot of ground, 
inclosed by handsome iron railings and well 
stocked with cattle, ready to be taken possession 
of by the first boy who made his appearance from 
the East. (His ideas were largely colored by recol- 
lections of visits to the zoological gardens.) 

A half-hour's talk witli his sister gave him a 
surprising amount of information. He saw, with 
the keenest regret, that things are not what 
they seem, and that under no circumstances 
could he make the Texan trip in the simple, airy, 
unencumbered way which he had intended to go. 
Traveling with even a small trunk had no charms 
for his Bohemian soul, and so the whole delightful 
plan vanished into thin air, and nothing was left 
him but a prosaic city life and a spelling-book. 

But stop ! there was that goat and cart yet to live 
for — the one dream of his young life ! And the 
dream proved a reality, too ; for Gustavus worked 
diligently during the rest of the winter (that is, 
most of the time, for there were days when his 
studious spirit took a vacation, and his mischievous 
genius and he sallied forth together, striking ter- 
ror to the hearts of all who met them). But he 
finally succeeded in sending such a correct and 
elegant epistle to Boston, that, in the spring, his 
uncle presented him with the coveted treasures. 

The cart could hold four boys, and the goat 
answered to the name of Texas. 


By Fleta Forrester. 

Daisy time has come again ! 

Daisies, sweet and bright, 
Turn their round, white faces up 

To meet and kiss the light. 

Just as troops of children come, — 
Come to gaze and stare, — 

So the wistful daisy faces 
Meet you everywhere ! 

Daisies play bo-peep with you 
At every fence you pass ; 

Steal into your garden beds 
And creep into your grass. 

Daisies on the hill-side ; 

Daisies on the plain ; 
Throngs so close, one can but think 

The snow is there again ! 

Strolling through the meadow. 

Scattered by the brook ; 
Daisies, daisies everywhere ! 

Whichever way you look ! 

6 I 2 



* w^33S58£, < !,'?r* 

carl^ts. # aoiftgw: 

J ' T ' TRpVBT^DGEr 

Chapter I\". 


SAID, everything 
was going on fa- 
vorably. But it 
^ ^V cou 'd not be ex- 
' , - ) pected that a boy 
like Caspar would 
change the habits 

Jxfa^BsK ww&fyGpy of hi: lif and his 

whole mode of 
thought in a day 
or a week. He was 
impatient to see 
the promised cer- 
tificate, the idea of 
which tickled his 
boyish pride ; and 
as he did not know 
the reason why it 
was delayed, he more than once had resolved to 
break off his connection with the school-master 
and go back to his wild associates. 

His behavior to his parents was a little more 
considerate than it had been ; but it was still 
perverse. The minister was a rather silent man, 
and he had so long regarded his son with gloomy 
dissatisfaction, that he could not easily take the 
first steps toward a better understanding. Yet 
his heart had softened toward him, and he, too, 
with the mother, hoped for good results from the 
teacher's influence. 

A little more than a week had passed. It was 
Saturday afternoon, and Mr. Heth was absent 
from home, when Caspar took his gun and started 
for the woods ; there was a load in it. which he 
wished to fire off. His sister Ella called after him. 
•'You are not going a-hunting, are you ?" she 

" I am. What have you got to say about it?" he 
retorted haughtily. 

She was a year and a half younger than he, but 
old enough to see how wrong his conduct often 
was, and to wish he would mend it. 

"Now, Caspar,' she cried, " you know it isn't 
right ! Papa 1 said you must be sure to trim those 
borders, for to-morrow is Sunday." 

" There '11 be time enough for the borders when 
I get back," he scowlingly replied. " So don't 
fret, little school-ma'am." 

•'That's what you always say, ' time enough.' You 
put off your work to the last, and then it is never 
done. You '11 not touch those borders to-day, I 
know you '11 not," she cried, " if you don't do them 

" You '11 see ! I can't be gone long, for I've no 
ammunition. I am not to be ordered around by 
you, anyhow ! " And Caspar stalked off. 

" Don't say anything more to him," the mother 
called to Ella. " He will have his way." 

" I suppose so," said Ella ; " he always has had 
it, and he always will have it. But it provokes 
me ! " And she stood in the door-way, gazing after 
him with sparkling dark eyes. 

In the lane leading to the wood, Caspar caught 
glimpses of a ragged fellow lurking behind some 

" Hallo, Pete !" he cried. " What are you hid- 
ing there ? Where did you get that melon ? " he 
added, as Pele Cheevy, recognizing him, came out 
from his ambush with a cantaloupe in his grimy 

" Found it rollin' up hill lookin' fer an owner," 
said the grinning Pete. " Sit down here, an' we '11 
rip it open an' hev a jolly treat." 

It was a temptation. But Gaspar had been 
shunning the Cheevy urchin for a week, and he 
was not to be drawn back to him now by the bribe 
of a melon which he knew must have been stolen- 

" No, thank you," he replied, walking on. 

iS8 4 .] 



" Thought you tol' me las' Sat'day you wer' n't 
go'n' ter shoot any more birds, now 't they talk 
o' tight'nin' up the law on 'em," observed Pete. 

" I 'm not," said Gaspar, thinking how Pete and 
the other fellows would envy him when he had 
his certificate. " But I may pick up a blue jay ; 
there 's no law about them." 

" I '11 go 'long with ye, 'f ye want me ter," Pete 

Gaspar reflected that the egg-hunting season 
was over, and he needed no assistance in climbing 

"Say, shell uh ? " (Ragged urchin's phrase for 
"shall I.") 

" Not with that melon," Gaspar replied signi- 

"Never mind the melon! I '11 hide it till we 
come 'long back." But as Caspar walked on with- 
out more words, Pete bawled after him : " Seems 
t' me somebody 's awful stiff all t' once ! Go 'long 
'th yer ol' gun ! I don' wan' ter shoot it. An' ye 
shan't hev any o' my mushmelon, neither." 

He pulled out from the pocket of his tattered 
trousers a knife with half a blade, and proceeded 
to "rip it open," as he phrased it, under a 
clump of bushes, where he regaled himself, devour- 
ing greedily all the good part of the melon and 
throwing away the rinds. Then he rose up, 
stretched himself, wiped his fingers on his trousers 
and his face on his sleeve, and hardly knowing 
what else to do for amusement that afternoon, 
followed Gaspar up into the woods. 

" Pleg' on the feller! dunno' what 's got inter 
him ! " he muttered. " He '11 come roun' mebby, 
'f I ask him 'f he don't want any kingfisher's eggs ; 
he was pesterin' me fer 'em, las' month." 

The woods were very still that afternoon, and 
Gaspar went a long way without seeing or hearing 
any but the commonest birds. Not a woodpecker 
drummed, not a jay screamed. But at length, 
when he was about a mile from home, in the most 
ancient part of the forest, where still a few very 
old trees grew along with those of a younger 
generation, his quick ear detected a sound which 
made him stop short and raise his gun. 

It was something like a robin's song, and yet he 
knew it was not a robin's. Two or three times 
before, he had heard it in deep woods, and had 
caught glimpses of the brilliant plumage of the 
bird which uttered it. It came now from the 
sun-spotted foliage high above his head, into which 
he gazed eagerly, trembling with excitement, sure 
that a prize which he had long sought in vain was 
at last within his reach. 

The song was repeated, and then something 
like a winged flame darted among the branches : 
only the wings were not flame-like. Black wings 

and tail, and a body as red as fire, — O joy ! It was 
the one bird he most desired of all, so rare in all 
that region : the Scarlet Tanagcr ! 

I can not say that Gaspar forgot his promise to 
the master. But though his permit had not come, 
he believed it ought to have come ; " and it 's prob- 
ably on the way now, if it 's coming at all," he 
reasoned, while he watched eagerly for a good shot. 
"Anyhow, I 'm not going to let a male Scarlet 
Tanager escape me, permit or no permit, law or 
no law ! " 

He saw a movement of the bright carmine breast 
through a screen of leaves, drew a quick aim, 
and fired. 

The bird dropped from its perch, but seemed 
to partially recover the use of its wings before it 
had fallen far, and alighted, or rather lodged, in 
the fork of one of the largest old trees in the 

It was an oak, the main stem of which had, years 
before, been broken off about twenty feet from the 
ground. But from that point two living limbs 
still grew, one very large, branching toward the 
south, and a smaller one pushing out in the 
opposite direction; both rising high among the 
surrounding tree-tops. 

It was in the hollow between these two limbs 
that the bird had fallen, and well out of sight, as 
Gaspar found by walking two or three times around 
the tree. 

"A rare bird like that — it is too bad to lose it ! " 
he said, gazing wistfully up at the spot. " But of 
course nobody can shin up a trunk like that. What 
a fool I was, not to let Pete come with me ! I 
would make him help me bring a ladder ; or he 
might get on that smaller limb from the branches 
of this little pine. Pete 's such an exasperating 
fellow ! " he exclaimed impatiently. " Why is n't 
he here when he 's wanted ? " 

Having no second charge for his gun, he laid it 
on a mossy log, where he sat down to wait for the 
bird to show itself again, and to consider what he 
should do. 

Chapter V. 


At dusk that evening, the minister in his 
dressing gown, with his black study-cap on his 
head, — for he was bald, — was pacing to and fro 
before his door, when Mr. Pike came in at the 

Mr. Heth looked up quickly, with a perturbed 
and lowering face, as if expecting somebody else, 
and at sight of the school-master made an effort to 
appear unconcerned and gracious. 




After a few commonplace words of greeting had 
been passed between them, Mr. Pike, declining an 
invitation to enter the house, took an envelope 
from his pocket, saying : 

"I have called to see Caspar; I have something 
which 1 think will please him." 

" What is it? " the minister demanded sharply. 

" The permit I promised him," replied the 
caller, wondering what new shadow of trouble 
had come over the household, " the permit from 
the Natural History Society." 

" He don't deserve it ! " Mr Heth broke forth, 
with strong feeling. " He is the most undutiful, 
ungrateful boy I ever saw ! 1 wonder at myself for 
expecting better things of him, after his behavior 
in the past." 

Surprised and pained, the master could only ask : 
" Has anything new occurred, Mr. Heth ? " 

" Nothing new," re- 
plied the agitated father. 
"It's the same old story. 
But it is all the more 
exasperating just at this 
time, when we had hopes 

— were beginning to 
have hopes, — after your 
talks with him, and his 
improved behavior, as if 
he really meant to do 
better, — but I give him 
up ! 1 give him up ! I 
find I can place no re- 
liance whatever upon 

" I can't bear to think 
he has driven you to that 
conclusion," said the 
master, in tones of sym- 
pathy and distress. 
" Where is he now ? " 

" That 's what I don't 
know. I have n't seen 
him since I left home 
at about two o'clock. I 
gave him a light task to 
do, — a very light task, 

— but told him to be sure 
to do it ; for I wished to 
try him again and see if 
there was any conscience 
or obedience in the boy. 
He promised heartily ; 

but at about three o'clock he took his gun and 
went off — no one knows where. His sister Ella 
reminded him of his work; but he answered her 
in his usual way, — that he would be back in time 
for it, that it was no affair of hers, and that she 

was n't his guardian, — or in words to that effect. 
He has not been home since." 

" He must return now very soon," observed the 
school-master. " It is too late to shoot anything." 

"And it is too late to do his work," said the min- 
ister. He may come now when he pleases. I could 
almost say, in my wrath and grief, that I care little 
whether he comes at all. But no, no ! In spite 
of everything, I still have his good at heart. Come 
in. His mother will be glad to see you. By your 
interest in him, misplaced as it has been, you have 
won something more than her esteem." 

" I can not think my interest lias been mis- 
placed," Mr. Pike replied, rallying from his first 
discouragement. "I have great confidence that a 
boy of his fine ability and love of nature will come 
out all right. I think something has occurred to 
detain him. I will go in and wait a little while." 


He remained an hour, — two hours. It was 
half-past nine o'clock, and Caspar had not re- 
turned. It was not an unusual thing for the boy to 
be absent so late, although that had commonly 
happened, heretofore, when he had gone out after 

i88 4 .) 

THE S C A R L E T T A N A ( \ E R . 

6 is 

supper. He did not often get his supper away 
from home, and the evening meal was something 
that held an important place in his esteem. Mr. 
Pike could not wonder that Mrs. Heth was grow- 
ing more and more anxious for her son's safety. 

" Pete Cheevy, if anybody, 
will be apt to know where he 
is," she remarked, as the vis- 
itor at last rose to go. 

" I think so," said he, " and 
if there is a light in the house 
as I go up the street, I will 
call and make inquiries." 

The Cheevys lived in a lit- 
tle old house under the brow 
of a wooded hill that rose ab- 
ruptly, with steep, half-hidden 
ledges, a few rods back from 
the street. There was no light 
visible as Mr. Pike approached 
the place, and he concluded 
that the family had gone to 
bed. But looking back, after 
he had passed, he saw a glow 
in an upper room under the 
low gable, the window of which 
was open. 

He hesitated a minute, un- 
willing to disturb the family; but seeing a shadow 
pass the window, and thinking the chamber might 
be Pete's, he entered the yard and leaned against 
a bank-wall under the cliff. The moon was just 
rising ; the rocks and overhanging woods were 
picturesquely touched with light; but everything 
was still, except for the sound of the master's own 
movements and the shrill notes of the tree-crickets. 

Again the shadow crossed the casement, and to 
make sure that it was Pete in the room, the master 
mounted the bank-wall. He was rewarded for the 
effort by seeing our young acquaintance, by the 
light of a not very brilliant lamp, performing some 
queer antics with a gun ; now petting it as if it 
were some living creature, now taking aim at some 
imaginary game, and again trying the lock as if he 
found in its mechanism a wonderful fascination. 

"One would think he had never seen a gun 
before," the master said to himself, standing high 
on the bank to get a better view. " Peter ! " he 
called, in a loud whisper. 

Peter did not hear ; he was pulling up the 
hammer for another imaginary shot. This time 

shot, and in an instant boy and gun had dis- 
appeared in the chamber. Mr. Pike waited in 
silence, and in a little while saw a head cautiouslv 
advance to the casement and peer out into the half- 
moon-lit night. 

pete finds Caspar's gun. (see page 617.) 

" Peter ! " The head drew quickly back. " Peter 
Cheevy ! " Peter now came again to the window, 
but without the gun. 

" Who be ye, 'n' wha' d' ye want? " he said, in 
a startled voice. 

" I am Mr. Pike, and I want to know if you 
have seen Gaspar Heth this afternoon ? " 

" Me ? How sh'd I see him ? D'd you say 
Gaspar Heth ? " 

"Yes, I did say Gaspar Heth," said the master. 
" Where did you see him last ? " 

" Dunno. Have n't seen him lately — not much 
— not very lately. Though I b'lieve I did," Pete 
continued, recovering from his embarrassment, and 
assuming a tone of the utmost candor, — '" now 
I ree'lect, I did see him goin' up into the woods 

" What time?" 

"I dunno. Some time t'day. Guess this aft'- 
noon. Yes, I 'm sure 't was this aft'noon. Why?" 

" Because he has n't come home, and his folks 
are anxious about him." 

" Be they ? Sho ! Guess Gap Heth can take 

his game seemed to be out of the window, toward care o' himself; he gener'ly 'most alluz could. 

which he made a sudden dash, pointing the muzzle 
in the direction of the school-master. 

" Peter ! " called the latter, in a sharp, warning 

Pete stopped as if he himself had received a 

He 's nobody's fool, Gap Heth ! " observed Pete, 

'* Did he have his gun with him?" the school- 
master inquired. 

"I disremember; somehow I can't ree'lect 'bout 




the gun. Though 't seems t' me he did hev his 
gun. Yes, 1 'm pretty sure on 't, come t' think." 

" And you went a little way with him ?" 

"Me? No, I jes' didn't! Ketch me! Gap 
Heth 's snubbed me lately, 'n' I 'm not go'n' to 
tag aft' him ! " 

" What has he snubbed you for ? " 

''What for? I don't know, 'n' I don't care! 
Talks 'bout you 'n' some folks screwin' up the law 
on bird-huntin'. That don't trouble me. Bird's- 
eggin' time 's over, 'n' I don't shoot." 

"Don't shoot?" cried the master. "I imag- 
ined you did, by the way I saw you handling your 
gun just now." 

Pete made no reply to this simple remark ; and 
if the light had been favorable for such a display, 
he might have been seen to roll his eyes and open 
his mouth with a ghostly attempt at a grin. 

" So you have n't seen him since this afternoon, 
when he was going into the woods?" urged the 
master. " You are very sure ? " 

" Oh, yis ! pos'tive sure ! " Pete exclaimed, as if 
relieved to have the conversation come back to the 
main topic. "Tell ye 'f 1 hed ; course I would! 
why should n't 1 ? " 

Although suspicious that the boy knew some- 
thing about Gaspar that he was unwilling to tell, 
Mr. Pike did not press him further with questions : 
nor did he think it necessary to go back and inform 
the Heths of the ill success of his attempt to get 
news of their son. 

Chapter VI. 


The next morning, however, on his way to 
church, the master turned in at the parsonage 
gate. He felt sure the boy must be at home by 
that time ; but the first anxious face that met him 
at the door told a different tale. 

It was the face of the mother. " Have you 
heard from him ? " she tremulously inquired. 

" Not a word, except that the Cheevy boy saw 
hirn going into the woods yesterday afternoon." 

As he followed her into the entry, she said to 
him, with quivering lips, " Do you believe it 
possible he has run away ? " 

No, he could not believe that. 

" Or that he has met with some accident — with 
his gun ? " 

Mr. Pike thought that more probable, but re- 
frained from saying so. 

" I don't know what to think," he replied. " 1 
will walk up into the woods and see if I can find 
any trace of him." 

" His father has already been to look for him,'' 

said Mrs. Heth. " We had a terrible night ; and 
at daylight he set off, exploring the woods and 
calling at neighbors' houses, where our poor boy 
might have been seen. But Mr. Heth came home 
all tired out. He is lying down now for a little 
rest. How he is going to get through his sermon 
this forenoon, I don't know. " 

Although these words were spoken in a flutter- 
ing voice, hardly above a whisper, they roused the 
minister in his room above, and he called from the 
door : 

" Is that Gaspar, or any news of him ? " 

" No ; it is Mr. Pike ; he is going into the 
woods to look for Gaspar," replied Mrs. Heth. 

" It 's no use," the minister replied. " I believe 
the boy has taken himself out of the way." 

Nevertheless, Mr. Pike went to the woods, and 
spent the time he had intended for church in 
searching rocks and hollows for what he dreaded 
to find. 

Mrs. Heth remained at home, vainly hoping to 
see her son come back. But the father, mastering 
his agitation, and nerving himself for the perform- 
ance of duty, stood that morning as usual in the 
pulpit and bravely went through with prayer and 
sermon, — a pathetic figure to those who knew 
what grief and apprehension were at his heart. 

In the meanwhile the school-master, having 
spent an hour in unavailing search, bethought him 
to find Pete Cheevy again, in order to get that 
experienced youth to show him some of Caspar's 
favorite haunts. 

Pete was not at home ; but his father was, a 
sort of enlarged edition of Pete himself, — slouch- 
ing, tattered, unkempt, — who stared innocently 
enough when told of Caspar's disappearance. 

" I had n't heard a word on 't ! " he said. 

"I supposed everybody in town had heard of it 
by this time. And I should think Pete would 
have told you," remarked the school-master. 

"Guess Pete don't know it," replied the elder 
Cheevy, standing in his door-way, and fumbling 
his unbuttoned vest. 

" Oh, yes, he does ; for 1 stopped last night and 
told him Gaspar had n't been heard from at half- 
past nine o'clock." 

"Half-pas' nine? What 're ye talkin' 'bout? 
My boy was a-bed and asleep 'fore that time." 

" I beg your pardon," said the master, " I saw 
him through the window, in his room, playing with 
his gun." 

" Ye 're gett'n' things mixed up now, fer cer- 
t'n ! " said the paternal Cheevy. " My boy has n't 
any gun." 

A sudden suspicion flashed across the master's 
mind. He was silent for a moment. Then he said : 

" I can't be mistaken about the gun ; and I 




without lett'n' me know on 't, that boy 
ketch ginger, an' no mistake ! " 

He went tramping up the carpetless stairs in 
his thick-soled shoes, and was afterward heard 
asking his wife if she had seen Pete " hev any 
gun aroun' the house?" Mr. Pike awaited his 
return with great anxiety, believing that at last 
he had a clew to the mystery. 

Mr. Cheevy came out looking puzzled. 

"Mus' be some mistake." he said. "Pete 
has n't got a gun, and we can't find any gun." 

Mr. Pike withdrew ; and when, a little later, 
the younger Pete came slipping down the ledges, 
out of the woods, he was rushed upon, capt- 
ured, and held fast with one hand by the elder 
Pete, who brandished an apple-tree branch 
with the other. 

" How 'bout that gun ? " demanded the irate 
Mr. Cheevy. 

" Pa ! don't thrash me, an' I '11 tell ye all 
'bout it, — I will, sure ! " screeched the junior, 
beginning to dance before the instrument be- 
gan to play. "O Pa ! O Pa !" 

" Stop yer yellin' ! 1 hev n't touched ye," 
said old Pete. 

•'But ye 're goin' ter ! " cried young Pete. 

"It 's Gap Heth's gun, an' I found it on a 

log in the woods yest'day, an' I jes' brought it 

hum to keep it fer him, 's sure as I live an' 

think you will find it in his room now, if you will breathe this minute ! " 

go and look. I certainly saw it last night." " Be them the fac's ?" said the father. "Don't 

" Can't be ! " said the elder Cheevy. " But I '11 you dare try to give me anythin' else but the gen- 
go 'n' look, an' if I find he 's keep'n' a gun ooine fac's ! No triflin' with me, you know." 

Vol. XI.— 40. 

7" ; --,-A '5"" '" 




As the instrument seemed about to strike up a 
vivacious air, Pete danced again, swinging around 
the circle of which the radius was the paternal 
arm. At last, when he seemed to be sufficiently 
terrified to tell the truth, he was ordered to "stan' 
still an' tell it." This was his statement : 

" I saw Gap a-goin' up int' the woods with his 
gun, an' by 'n' by I follered him ; but I could n't 
get a sight on him, no way ; I never saw him 
once, an' I dunho where he went. But over by 
Bingham's Swamp I came across his gun a-layin' 
on a log ; an' he was n't anywheres aroun', an' 
there was n't anybody in sight, an' 1 'd never had a 
gun, an' that seemed my only chance, an' I took it." 

" Hooked it, you mis'ble man's boy ! " exclaimed 
old Pete. 

" I did n't mean it fer hookin' ; I found it ! " 
young Pete exclaimed. 

" Wall, that 's another thing," said the father, 
softening. " Anybody 's li'ble to find things. 
But why did n't you tell me?" 

•'I did n't know 's ye 'd lemme keep it," 
whimpered the boy. 

" Now see what a scrape you 're gettin' inter by 
not tellin' ! " said his father. "When School- 
master Pike talked about your gun this mornin', I 
told him, o' course, that you had n't any gun. — 
Where is 't now? " 

" I got scared, an' hid it under some bushes 
up int' the woods, fus' thing this mornin'. Old 
Pickerel scared me las' night." 

" Wall, you get it, an' kerry 't back to where 
ye found it, lively ! I don't want any boy o' mine 
hauled up fer findin' things that there 's go'n' to 
be so much fuss about as there is 'bout this, now 
Gap has got lost. Don't you see, if anything 's 
happened ter him, ye might be put in jail fer 
murder ? S'pose he 's found shot, an' his gun found 
in your hands ! Now you scamper an' git rid on't 
in a hurry ; an' mind, ye leave it jes' where you 
found it. Now scud ! " 

Chapter VII. 


Owing to the terrors of the situation, Pete had 
told a tolerably straightforward story. He had 
found the gun on a log, in the way he described. 
It was the same mossy log upon which Caspar had 
sat down to wait for the scarlet tanager to show 
itself again, and to consider what he should do. 

As the bird did not show itself, and as he knew 
nothing of Pete's following him into the woods, he 
finally said to himself: "I guess what Pete can 
do, I can do. I know he could shin up this pine 
and get off on the oak, and I believe I can." 

It was a slender pine, about eight inches 
through, with a tendency to die at the top, which 
top, by the way, had had the misfortune to be 
thrust up' into the branches of larger and taller 
trees. One of these was the great oak with the 
broken stem, at the summit of which, in the fork 
of the trunk, the scarlet tanager had lodged. 

Caspar himself was a good climber, as well as a 
resolute boy. He laid his gun across the log, hugged 
the pine with knees and arms, and began to work 
his way upward. He reached the branches without 
difficulty, and scrambled through them into the 
scraggly top, above which the smaller limb of the 
oak made a tremendous sweep, nearly twenty feet 
from the broken trunk. 

In passing the dead, or dying, twigs of the pine- 
tops, he lost his cap, which lodged in them. 
" Never mind," he said, " I can get that on my 
way back." He looked over at the fork of the 
huge oak, but could not see his bird, — only the de- 
cayed hollow into which it had fallen. To reach it, by 
clasping the limb curved above him, and descend- 
ing over that, in mid-air, was a feat which made 
him hesitate. Then he said, "Here goes ! " and 
balancing himself in the pine -top, he stretched 
up his arms. until he could clasp them securely 
over the oaken limb. 

After his arms, up went his legs ; and holding 
fast to the branch with hands and feet, he began 
to work his way down to the trunk, pausing to 
look back at the pine, and assure himself that his 
return that way would be safe. 

" Yes," he said, "I can get back as easily as I 
came." And he slipped daringly down the great 
limb to the fork. 

On reaching it, he found that the broken stem 
contained, inside the ring of living wood and bark, 
a rotten cavity, into which the bird must have dis- 
appeared. The hole was large at the top, but it 
narrowed below ; and there, looking down, he saw 
his bird clinging with half-spread wings to the de- 
cayed lining of the trunk. 

" What a beauty ! " he exclaimed ; " I must have 
him, sure ! " 

He rested, with one arm about the limb he had 
descended, and cautiously thrust the other down 
into the hollow. With his utmost straining he 
could not reach the prize with his hand. "Per- 
haps," thought he, " I can reach him with my 

So he got one leg into the cavity, and put it 
carefully down, his object being to place his foot 
beneath the bird, which seemed stupefied or ex- 
hausted, and force it gently upward. 

" If he flies out," reasoned the boy, " he will fall 
to the ground, and I can catch him." 

But instead of flying out, the tanager, roused by 

i88 4 .] 



the pressure of the foot, fluttered still further down, 
and clung again to a projection of the decayed 

" I shall lose him that way," Caspar exclaimed. 
" 1 shall Jose him anyway, unless I can reach him 
with my hand. I wish I had a string or some- 
thing to make a slip-noose ! " 

The sight of the rich red body and velvety black 
tail and wings inspired him with that enthusiastic 
eagerness to possess the specimen which only a 
naturalist can understand. 

Then he ventured on a rash undertaking, 
believing that he could let himself down into the 
hollow beside the bird until it would be easy to 
grasp it. This he did, forcing his toes into the 
rotten wood — if anything so far gone in decay can 
be called wood — and keeping as firm a hold as 
he could of the top of the opening. 

When he thought he had gone far enough, he 
held on by his feet and one upstretched hand, and 
reached down with the other. There was the bird 
still ; but he had hardly touched it, when it 
fluttered off again, and he made a sudden, fatal 
movement to grasp its wing. 

The hold of hand and feet on the decayed wood 
gave way, and he slipped down into the narrow 
part of the cavity. 

There, by desperately spreading legs and arms, 
and clutching his fingers into the soft lining, he 
managed for awhile to support himself. 

He looked up ; his head was about three feet 
from the top of the opening. It was impossible to 
seize the rotten rim again. The space below was 
large enough to let his body slide down, but too 
small to allow him to use his legs and feet to any 
advantage. And the punk-like substance into 
which he thrust his fingers was too slight to 
yield him much support. 

He had been terrified by his first slip. And 
now he began to realize the horror of his situation. 

He could wedge his knees and elbows into the 
cavity so that the slipping was arrested. But it 
began again the moment he tried to work his way 

There seemed to be nothing he could do but 
to hold himself in place and scream for help. 
And scream he did, with what strength he had 
left. But he soon perceived the futility of any such 
efforts. His voice was projected upward into the 
forest-tops and pitiless blue sky ; it could not have 
been heard far in any other direction. 

It was a terrible moment to a boy so full of 
life and hope but a little while before, but whom a 
sudden and awful death now threatened. 

His strength began to fail ; he could not even 
scream any more ; he could only think. And all 
the while he was slowly slipping, slipping. 

He thought of his home, which he had often 
threatened to leave in hate and scorn, but which 
appeared a paradise to him now. — If he were only 
there again! It seemed far off and strange; 
while his collections of birds and eggs, lately so 
real and all-important to him, faded into a sicken- 
ing dream. 

Then he thought of his parents, whose kindness 
he had so often repaid with ingratitude, and he 
called out in his agony : ' 

" O Father ! help me ! help ! help ! " 

But his father was probably at that moment 
riding quietly along the village street, thinking 
perhaps of his perverse son, whom he had left at 
home to do a trifling task which that son had 
neglected, and now could never do. 

He remembered the prayers his mother taught 
him in childhood to repeat, but which he had 
utterly neglected in his later reckless years. He 
wished he could pray now, for perhaps the angels 
might help him. But it seemed to him as if he 
had never prayed ; certainly his heart and soul 
had never gone into a prayer as they did now into 
the mere wish that he might pray. 

All this time he felt himself slipping, slipping. 

The tree was probably hollow to the root. 
Death in that horrible depth seemed certain. And 
who would ever think of looking for him there ? 

After a long while, his absence would excite 
alarm. The woods would be searched, and his 
gun might be found on the log below there. But 
would even that give his friends a clew to his fate ? 

He remembered that, to an observer on the 
ground, there was no visible sign that the tree had 
an opening at the top ; and who would dream of 
his having climbed that enormous trunk? 

"Oh, why didn't I let Pete come with me?" 
he said despairingly, little suspecting that Pete was 
even then prowling in the woods, listening to 'hear 
his gun. 

Still, inch by inch, he knew that he was slipping, 
slipping, slipping. 

If he only had room to use his knees and feet ! 
If he could clutch with his fingers some solid sup- 
port ! The top of the cavity was so near ! why 
could he not reach it ? 

"I must! I will!" he cried out, in a choked 
and stifled voice, and nerved himself for a last 
determined struggle. 

It seemed for a minute that he was actually 
making progress upward; and he quickened his 
efforts with the energy of desperation. Then all 
at once something seemed to give way with his 
strength, and he had a sense of sliding rapidly, 
his fingers tearing from their hold, his nails from 
their sockets, and soul and body rushing down 
into darkness. 

(To be continued. ) 





% mm 

X I 




By Pall Hoffman', aged eleven years. 

I KNOW a little girl, 
But I wont tell who. 
Her hair is yellow gold, 
Her eyes are pretty blue ; 
Her smile is ever sweet, 
And her heart is very true. 
Such a pretty little girl, — 
But I wont tell who. 

I see her every day, 
But I wont tell where. 
It may be in the lane 
By the elm-tree there ; 

Or it m2y be in the garden 
By the roses fair. 
Such a pretty little girl, — 
But I wont tell where. 

I '11 marry her some day, 
But I wont tell when. 
And I '11 be very rich, 
And have millions then; 
And she '11 have all she wants, 
Which is more than I can ken. 
Such a pretty little girl, — 
But I wont tell when. 

i88 4 .J 





Bv Susan Anna Brown. 

Margaret Dana was one of the practical, 
earnest girls who are always ready to try new- 
things, and ambitious to make the most of every 
opportunity. She had one trial, and that was, 
that her father would not let people call her 
Maggie, or Marguerite, or Daisy, or Pearl, or 
Madge, or anything but plain Margaret. That 
had been his mother's name, and he said it was 
good enough for her grand-daughter, without any 
modern improvements. To be sure, most of the 
girls in her class at school were Bessies, and Min- 
nies, and Nellies, and Fannies ; but in spite of the 
affliction of having a name which did not end in 
"ie," Margaret took life pleasantly enough. In 
school, she studied sufficiently to keep her place in 
the class, and outside, every moment was filled 
with work or play. 

It was a rule of the Dana household, however, 
that the children should write at least a few lines 
every day, in the form of a letter, or a diary, or a 
composition. Copying did not count, or Margaret 
would have finished her daily task without much 
thought. Mrs. Dana had an idea that people 
found many things burdensome only because they 
were not accustomed to do them, and resolved 
that her children should form the habit of express- 
ing their thoughts on paper, hoping that it would 
be as easy for them as talking when they grew 
older. Margaret had a brother in college, and 
three or four cousins, with whom she exchanged 
letters occasionally, and her school compositions 
came once in two weeks, so that she was seldom at 
a loss for an object in her daily writing. Some- 
times, when she read stories where the heroine 
kept a journal in which to record her very senti- 
mental ideas, Margaret was tempted to begin one ; 
but she never proceeded far, for she could not 
think up any trials to philosophize over, and what 
she was doing aad enjoying seemed unworthy of a 
place in so dignified a volume. So that after she 
had written a few pages, in which she had told 
about their old-fashioned house, which she could 
never make sound as interesting as the " vaulted 
halls" and "dim old libraries" which the heroines 
described, her journal was apt to languish, and, 
after a few more entries, was usually put into the 
fire. Once the family tried the experiment of a 
general diary, which was to be written every night, 
and was to record the doings of the whole house- 
hold. But as Mr. and Mrs. Dana, and Grandma 
Edwards, and Ned, and Kate, and cousin Fanny, 

and even little John, all were expected to take their 
turn at it, Margaret wrote in it only now and then. 
And, besides, it was not half so interesting to write 
in that great book in the sitting-room as it was to 
scribble off something of her very own in the sacred 
privacy of her own corner. This corner was a very 
cozy sort of place. Kate and Margaret shared a 
long, low room, which they took great pride in dec- 
orating with every pretty thing which came in their 
way. Sometimes they used to talk over the changes 
they would make in it if they were rich : The 
simple, light paper was to be exchanged for an 
elegant dark tint with a wonderful frieze : the 
somewhat dingy carpet was to give place to a 
beautiful inlaid floor, adorned with oriental rugs 
in soft colors ; the air-tight stove was to be re- 
placed by an open fire-place, where a cheerful 
blaze was always to be glowing (they usually made 
their plans in the cold weather). In fact, the furni- 
ture was all to be of the most new-old-fashioned 
kind, such as they saw now and then in the house 
of some friend. To tell the truth, I am very doubt- 
ful whether they would have liked the room one bit 
better if some indulgent fairy had transformed it to- 
the splendid apartment of which they dreamed. 
As it was, the two girls took much com- 
fort in its friendly shabbiness. The two win- 
dows looked west and south. At the western 
one, Kate had a table where she used to sit 
and write or paint, and when she was resting 
she could look over the river at the low line 
of blue hills, where the scene seemed the same, 
and yet ever changing with the changing seasons, 
like the expression of a familiar face. Often the 
two girls sat there together and watched the sun 
sink down behind those wooded slopes, and saw 
the dark line of trees printed for a moment on his 
flaming disk, and then standing out distinct and 
clear on the background of red sky. Sometimes, in 
the hot July afternoons, they leaned far out at the 
window to catch the first breath of a summer 
shower, which they could see coming up over the 
hills, and watched the thick veil of drops draw- 
nearer and nearer, until the first noisy pattering 
could be heard on the roof above them. This 
west window- was Kate's corner, where she had 
all her very special belongings. The southern 
one was in the slope of the roof, and had little 
side-lights, which made it almost like a bay-window. 
In this little nook. Margaret had her low easy-chair, 
and a sort of folding leaf which could be put up 





when she wanted a table, or suffered to hang 
down when she only wished to read or to look 
out at the cool freshness of the elms. Directly 
under the window-sill were two little shelves, 
where she had a few favorite books and her writing 
materials. This was her cozy corner, and the two 
girls were very careful to leave each other's 
possessions undisturbed, so that there might be 
that sort of separateness which only makes com- 
panionship more pleasant. Here they dreamed 
their dreams, as girls will, and had long confiden- 
tial talks together; for these two sisters appreciated 
each other, and if they had friends who seemed at 
first brighter and more entertaining, they never 
forgot that close tie of sisterhood which was more 
than any passing fancy. 

One evening, the two sat together in their own 
room. Kate was writing diligently on an essay 
which was to be read on the last day of school, and 
Margaret was biting the end of her pen and half- 
closing her eyes, as she had a habit of doing 
when she was thinking intently. At last she 
burst out with, " I think people who keep journals 
in books are horrid ! " 

" How else can you keep one ? " inquired Kate, 
without looking up from her work. 

"Oh, I don't mean that! " said Margaret; " I 
mean that people in books who keep journals are 
horrid, because they writedown such doleful things; 
and she glanced at the story which she had just fin- 
ished reading, which certainly was a rather depress- 
ing account of the trials and afflictions of a self-scru- 
tinizing young lady. " Why can't they write down 
the fun they have, and the kind things people do 
for them, instead of always telling their troubles, 
and making one feel dreadfully sorry for them ? " 

" Try it," said Kate, as she wrote the last word 
in her essay, and then ran down-stairs to read it to 
her father. 

" I declare, I believe I will," said Margaret 
slowly to herself, after she had thought awhile. 
" Something pleasant happens almost every day; 
and if I write down at night what people have 
done for me during the day, 1 shall not be always 
forgetting to thank them for it, as I do now, and it 
will be great fun to read it over some time." 

Margaret was never one of the dilatory sort ; 
when she made up her mind to do anything, she 
never waited until her enthusiasm had cooled. That 
very night she sewed a few sheets of paper into a 
little book, and made her first entry in this novel 
kind of diary. 

" I have resolved to keep a " Favor-Book," and 
to write down in it all the kind and pleasant things 
people do for me." 

If it had not been for the rule about writing 
every day, the "Favor-Book" might have been 

neglected, as the rest of the winter went by ; but 
before the spring came, Margaret was herself 
surprised to see how full it had grown. 

One night, during the first week in March, she sat 
in her favorite seat and turned over the pages and 
read the simple record. It was only a list of the little 
favors of every day, such as all receive, but Mar- 
garet was glad to recall every one of them. 

Jan.. 4. My brother let me read the St. 
NICHOLAS first, because I wanted to. I must 
remember to let him have it first, next time. 

Jan. 5. Alice Williams invited me to a party, 
and I had a splendid time. 

Jan. 7. Mother said I might go out skating 
when the rest did, and she would wipe the dinner 
dishes for me. 

Jan. 8. I received a fine letter from brother 
Ned, and he hates to write letters to us girls when 
he has so much other writing to do. 

Jan. 9. Cousin Fanny mended my dress for 
me, because she thought I did n't know how to do 
it in the best way. 

Jan. 10. Kate tried hard and found a capital 
subject for me to write a composition about. 

Jan. 11. Nellie Forbes waited for me to-day, 
because I was not quite ready to go to walk when 
the other girls went. 

Jan. 12. Mother let me ask two of the girls 
to tea. 

Jan. 14. Because I was so busy, Fred went 
down street on an errand which Mother had asked 
me to do. 

Jan. 15. Ellen lent me her new story-book. 

Jan. 16. Alice came over and brought her 
work, and taught me some of the stitches for 
Kensington embroidery. 

Jan. 17. Father took Kate and me to a concert. 

Jan. 18. Mary came over and stayed with me, 
because I had a cold. And it was splendid skat- 
ing, too. 

Jan. 19. Ellen came to ask how I was, on her 
way to church. 

Jan. 20. Cousin Fanny read to me quite a 
while to-day. Fred sat down and played back- 
gammon, because I had such a cold, — and he 
don't like games very well, either. 

Jan. 21. Father taught me how to play check- 
ers, because he said staying in the house was dull 
work for me. Mrs. Williams sent me some jelly. 

Jan. 22. Mary came over again. 

Jan. 23. Kate made the bed in our room to- 
day, although it is my week to keep it in order. 
I must make it for her some time. 

Jan. 24. My kitten climbed up in a tree, and I 
could not get her to come down, she was so much 
frightened. Henry Lund came along and said he 

r88 4 . 




would help me ; so he went into the house and got 
a broom, and put my sacque on it, and climbed 
part way up and coaxed her to get on the sacque, 
and then got her down. 

Jan. 25. Grandma gave me a bottle of cologne 
this morning. I mean to give half of it to Ellen, 
for she likes it so much, and hardly ever has any. 

Jan. 26. Mother helped me ever so much on 
my Sunday-school lesson. 

Jan. 27. I could not get any more worsted like 
my cushion, and it was almost done. I felt very 
much disappointed, because I wanted to finish it 
for Mother's birthday. Agnes Willis heard me 
talking about it at recess, and came all the way 
over here after school, although it rained, and 
brought her bag of worsted to see if she had n't 
some that would match. I don't think I have ever 
been over polite to Agnes, either. I have never 
tried much to get acquainted with her. 

Jan. 29. Mary is getting up a dialogue just 
for fun, and she has asked me to take the very 
nicest part in it. 

Jan. 30. Mrs. Williams lent me a cape to 
wear at our dialogue. 

Feb. 3. The night of the dialogue, Mary's sis- 
ter Julia helped us all she could. She fixed my 
hair for me, and was very kind in many ways. 
When I told Mother about it, she said, "That 's 
the sort of older sister I want you to be to 
Johnny and the baby." 

Feb. 4. Grandma told me something which 
she said would be a good motto for my "Favor- 
Book." I told her about this book a good while 
ago, and she said she "heartily favored the ' Favor- 
Book ' idea." The motto was something which a 
very old lady said to her a long time ago. It was 
this : " Wherever I go, I learn something, either 
to avoid or practice." Grandma said that every 
favor I note down would be something for me to 
practice. She gave all us children something to 
do last Sunday, when there was such a dreadful 
storm that no one could go to church. She made 
us all find verses in the Bible about doing favors 
to people. We found ever so many. 

Feb. 5. I had a letter from cousin Sarah. I 
did not answer her last one very promptly, so it 
was very good in her to write again so soon. 

Feb. 6. Old Miss Stone called this afternoon, 
and I am afraid I was not very glad to see her. 
She asked Mother why I looked so sad, and Mother 
told her that my cat was sick, and I felt worried. 
Miss Stone said, " I must send her some catnip," 
and before tea her girl came over and brought me 

a box, and in it was a bunch of dry catnip, tied up 
with a blue ribbon. And Pussy was almost well 
the next day. 

Feb. 7. Mrs. Williams sent for me to come 
over and spend the day, and I had a happy time. 

Feb. 8. Brother Ned came home and brought 
a package of candy for us all, and a new book for 
Kate and one for me. 

Feb. 10. Mother went into the city to-day and 
brought me home a new neck-tie and a box of 
writing-paper. Johnny was very good all the time 
she was gone, and helped me amuse the baby. 

Feb. 11. Ned took me out sleigh-riding to-day. 
The last sleigh-ride of the season, we think. 

Feb. 13. Agnes helped me with my algebra. 
She has such a nice way of helping ; she does not 
act as if you did not know anything. 

Feb. 14. Aunt Mary helped meabout my patch- 
work and found me some new silk pieces. 

Feb. 15. I was walking out to see Agnes Willis, 
and Ellen Stone overtook me and asked me to ride, 
and then called at Agnes's house for me, an hour 
later, and brought me home. 

Feb. 18. Yesterday was my birthday, and I 
had presents from Mother, Ned, and Kate, and 
cousin Sarah sent me a birthday card. Mother 
asked two of the girls here to tea. 

Feb. 20. I went in to Mrs. Johnson's of an 
errand this morning, and she went upstairs on 
purpose to get a new book to lend to me. 

Feb. 2 1 . Kate let me use her paints this after- 

Feb. 22. I was invited to a lovely party at 
Ellen's, to celebrate Washington's birthday. 

Feb. 24. Mrs. Forbes stopped me on the street 
to ask how our baby was, and to say she was so 
sorry to hear she had been sick. 

Feb. 27. Miss Saunders found something very 
interesting for me to read at our missionary meet- 
ing, and I know she is very busy and does not 
have much time to spare. 

As she read the last entry and laid aside the 
book, her mother came softly into the room and 
sat down beside her. 

" You told me that your ' Favor-Book ' was full, 
my dear," she said. " I have bought you a new 
one, that you may keep on remembering the kind- 
nesses which you receive," and she laid down in 
Margaret's lap a pretty volume in a red leather 
binding, on which was stamped her name, and un- 
derneath it the words, 

" Freely ye have received, freely give." 





By Oscanyan. 

It is the 
custom in 
ple, as well 
as here, for 
those who 
can afford it 
to go into the 
country during 
the summer months. 
The Turks of Constantinople 
forsake the city for two reasons : First, 
for a change of air ; and second, for a dairy diet, 
of which they are very fond. 

One season, Keahat-haneh-Keoy, a cozy little 
village in the valley of the Sweet-Waters, where 
the Golden Horn begins, was chosen by our family, 
for its rich pasture grounds and good milk. 

We children were delighted with the place. 
We had an abundance of pure milk and of fresh 
eggs, and each of us had also a favorite hen which 
was his special charge. 

Our chief delight was to place ducks' eggs in one 
of the hen's nests, and when the eggs were hatched 
to see the mother astonished at the odd appear- 
ance of her young. 

Yet she was kind and attentive to them, and 
raised them with care. But we children were most 
amused when the ducklings grew old enough to 
waddle and took to the water, setting the mother 
hen in a fume. Oh, how she would fret and cackle, 
and strut around the pond in real anger, scolding, 
scratching the ground, trying by all means to get 
them out before they were drowned ! 

This used to delight us immensely. One morn- 
ing when we went out to attend our chickens and 
ducklings, we suddenly heard, above our heads, a 
queer noise like the clanking of wooden spoons or 
the rattling of many castanets. 

We turned around to see what it was and where 
it came from. We soon discovered that it came 
from the top of the kitchen chimney, where two 
immense white birds, somewhat larger than geese, 
with long legs, long necks, and long bills, were 
standing and vigorously clacking their bills at 
each other. 

We ran into the house and informed our father 
of our discovery, and asked him to come out and 
see the birds. 

He said he knew all about them. " They are 
called storks," he said. They live in Africa, 
though they may have been born here ; for it is- 
their habit to spend their summers in northern 
climates, where they raise their young, and return 
home with them before winter. The ancient Egyp- 
tians regarded these birds as sacred, and it was 
considered a crime to hurt them, and in some places 
they were even worshiped. When summer comes, 
they leave their homes in a body, that is, a great 
many of them together, and take a northerly direc- 
tion. They must have arrived here last night. 
They separate in pairs, and locate themselves in 
different places, so you will soon see many others. 
They choose the chimney-tops wherever they can, 
because they are warm and they think them safer.* 
They prefer to live in valleys, because they live on 
frogs, reptiles, fish, and insects." 

Thus enlightened, we went out again to have 

* The chimneys in Turkey are built square, and their tops are covered, like school-house ventilators, with holes on the sides for the 
smoke to escape. 

i88 4 . 



another look at them. We used to gaze and gaze 
at them with wonderment, and our interest in 
them increased day by day, as we watched their 

They often stood together for hours rattling 
their bills at each other, or demurely surveying 
the grounds about them, often starting finally after 
some object or prey which they had espied. 

One day, after "playing the Castanet" (as we 
called it) for some time, they both suddenly darted 
away, one diving to the ground as though it was 
shot. Soon, it was seen ascending with a snake 
dangling from its claws. It rose far up into the 
air, and then suddenly dropped its prey. The 
other bird, who was on the lookout for this, in- 
stantly pounced upon the fallen victim (which had 
been killed by the fall), and seized and carried the 
dead snake to the nest on the chimney-top. 

The storks' flight is very pretty. They throw 

would let us approach them, but we were afraid to 
go too near, for when they turned their heads 
toward us to take a look, their long bills used to 
frighten us very much. So we watched our op- 
portunity to visit their nest during their absence. 

One day when they were away, we got a ladder, 
and raised it on the top of the small house which 
served for the kitchen. There we rested it against 
the chimney, and I ascended to the nest. 

We found their bed, or nest, made of the coarsest 
twigs and pieces of sticks. It contained four eggs, 
about the size of goose-eggs, but they were of a 
buff color, while goose-eggs are white. 

When we came down, and as we were talking 
about the nest, the idea struck me that it would be 
very funny to experiment on the storks as we did 
on the hens, and see what would be the result. 
We laughed heartily over the plot, and determined 
to take away their eggs and replace them with 


their heads back, extend their legs, and with out- 
stretched wings soar very high. Their move- 
ments, when on the ground in search of food, are 
equally graceful and picturesque ; they take long 
and measured strides, and strut about in conscious 
dignity and confident security. They rest sleep- 
ing on one leg, with the neck folded and head 
turned backward on the shoulder. 

We had a great desire to see their nest. Thev 

goose-eggs. " But they are not of the same 
color ! " said my brother. 

It was evident that the birds would discover the 
deception, and would not sit. My brother sug- 
gested that we should paint the goose-eggs exactly 
the color of the stork-eggs, with some water colors 
we had, and then all would be right. 

We prepared four fresh goose-eggs, and when 
both the birds were away, I remounted the ladder 




and carefully changed the eggs, and came down as 
rapidly as I could, before the birds returned. 

The poor creatures, not perceiving the decep- 
tion, went on sitting on the new eggs ; for we no- 
ticed they took turns in their sittings — the male, 
which was the larger of the two, sitting by day and 
the female by night. 

After four weeks' close watching, we knew, one 
day, that the eggs were hatched ; for there was a 
great trouble in the stork family. Both the birds 
were standing and clanking their bills at each other 
as if they would talk each other down. At last, they 
both flew away and soon returned with many 
others of their tribe. 

They all perched around the nest (or as many 
as could do so), the rest hovering over it and waiting 
for their turn to have a close look at the goslings. 
After due inspection and careful examination, they 
set up a clanking of bills that could be heard a great 
way off. They clanked and rattled, rattled and 

clanked, until their jaws got tired ; then they sud- 
denly ceased, and began pecking at something, 
after wdiich they all took to flight. 

We were curious to know what had happened. 
We made haste to ascend the ladder and find out 
the state of affairs before the birds came back. 
I was the first to explore, and I was both amazed and 
grieved to find the mother stork lying dead on top 
of the young goslings which had been hatched, and 
which were also dead. 

I came down the ladder to allow the others to 
see the catastrophe, and all ascended by turns, and 
came down with sorrowful faces. 

We rushed into the house and informed our 
father of what had happened. He, without saying 
a word, ordered the servant to go up and remove 
the dead birds. When they were brought down, we 
children dug a grave and buried the poor things. 
We learned many years afterward that no stork had 
ever, after that day, perched upon that chimney. 




By Alice Wellington Rollins. 

Sweet Marguerite looked shyly from the grass 
Of country fields, and softly whispered: "Here 
I make my home, content; for I, — alas! — 
Am not the rose the city holds so dear." 

Just then, the Queen, driving by chance that way, 
Called to a page: "Bring me that Marguerite ; 
I am so tired of roses ! " — From that day, 
The daisy had the whole world at her feet. 

Mamma's Moral. 

Restless ambition, eager, grasping greed, 
Do not gain all things in this world of ours ; 
Shy merit, modest, unassuming worth, 
Oft make the way for men, as well as flowers. 

Tommy's Application. 

I MUST say things seem rather "mixed" to me; 
Please will you tell me, then, dear mother, why 
You send me off to that big dancing-school 
For fear that I should grow up shy ? 





A, D. 1207-1212. 
{Aficrivai'd Frederick the Second, Emperor of Germany.} 

GLEAMING with light and beauty, from the wavy 
sea-line where the blue Mediterranean rippled 
against the grim fortress of Castellamare to the 
dark background of olive groves and rising mount- 
ain walls, Palermo, "city of the Golden Shell," 
lay bathed in all the glory of an Italian afternoon. 

It was a bright spring day in the year 1207. 

Up the Cassaro, or street of the palace, and out 
through the massive gate-way of that curious old 
Sicilian city, — half Saracen, half Norman in its 
looks and life, — a small company of horsemen 
rode rapidly westward to where the square yellow 
towers of La Zisa rose above its orange groves. 
Now La Zisa was one of the royal pleasure hpuses, 
a relic of the days when the swarthy Saracens 
were lords of Sicily. 

In the sun-lit gardens of La Zisa, a manly-looking 
lad of thirteen, with curly golden hair and clear blue 
eyes, stood beneath the citron trees that bordered 
a beautiful little lake. A hooded falcon perched 
upon his wrist, and by his side stood his brown- 
skinned attendant, Abderachman the Saracen. 

" But will it stay hooded, say'st thou ? " the boy 
inquired, as he listened with satisfaction to the 

* Copyright. 1883, by E. S. 
t El Aaziz; an Arabic phrase for 

tinkling bells of the nodding 
bird which Abderachman had 
just taught him to hood. "Can he not shake it off ?" 

"Never fear for that, little Mightiness," the 
Saracen replied. " He is as safely blinded as was 
ever the eagle of Kairwan, the eyes of which the 
Emir took for his crescent-tips, or even as art thou, 
O el Aasiz,\ by thy barons of Apulia." 

The look of pleasure faded from the boy's face. 

" Thou say'st truly, O Abderachman," he said. 
"What am I but a hooded falcon ? I, a King who 
am no King ! Would that thou and I could fly far 
from this striving world, and in those great forests 
over sea of which thou hast told me, could both 
chase the lion like bold, free hunters of the hills." 

"Wait in patience, O el Aaziz; to each man 
comes his day," said the philosophic Saracen. 

But now there was heard a rustle of the citron 
hedge, a clatter of hoofs rang on the shell-paved 
road-way, and the armed band that we saw spurring 
through Palermo's gates drew rein at the lake-side. 
The leader, a burly German knight, who bore upon 
his crest a great boar's head with jeweled eyes and 
gleaming silver tusks, leaped from his horse and 
strode up to the boy. His bou- of obeisance was 
scarcely more than a nod. 

" Your Highness must come with me," he said, 
" and that at once." 

The boy looked at him in protest. "Nay, 
Baron Kapparon. — am I never to be at my ease?" 
he asked. " Let me, I pray thee, play out my 

Brooks. All rights reserved. 

the excellent" or "most noble one." 




day here at La Zisa, even as thou did'st promise 

" Tush, boy ; promise must yield to need," said 
the Knight of the Crested Boar. " The galleys of 
Diephold of Acerra even now ride in the Cala port, 
and think'st thou 1 will yield thee to his guidance ? 
Come ! At the palace wait decrees and grants which 
thou must sign for me ere the Aloe-Stalk shall say 
us nay." 

" Must ! " cried the boy, as an angry flush cov- 
ered his face; "who saith 'must 1 to the son of 
Henry the Emperor? Who saith ' must ' to the 
grandson of Barbarossa? Stand off, churl of 
Kapparon ! To me, Sicilians all ! To me, sons of 
the Prophet ! " and, breaking away from the grasp 
of the burly knight, young Frederick of Hohen- 
staufen dashed across the small stone bridge that 
led to the marble pavilion in the little lake. But 
only Abderachman the Saracen crossed to him. 
The wrath of the Knight of Kapparon was more 
dreaded than the commands of a little captive 

The burly baron laughed a mocking laugh. 
" Well blown, sir Sirocco ! "* he said, insolently, 
"but, for all that, Your Mightiness, I fear me, 
must come with me, churl though I be. Come, 
we waste words ! " and he moved toward the lad, 
who stood at bay upon the little bridge. 

Young Frederick slipped his falcon's leash. 
" Cross at thy peril, Baron Kapparon ! " he cried ; 
" one step more, and I unhood my falcon and send 
him straight to thy disloyal eyes. Ware the bird ! 
His flight is certain, and his pounce is sharp ! " 
The boy's fair face grew more defiant as he 
spoke, and William of Kapparon, who knew the 
young lad's skill at falconry, hesitated at the 

But as boy and baron faced each other in de- 
fiance, there was another stir of the citron hedge, 
and another rush of hurrying hoofs. A second 
armed band closed in upon the scene, and a 
second knightly leader sprang to the ground. A 
snow-white plume trailed over the new-comer's 
crest, and on his three-cornered shield was 
blazoned a solitary aloe-stalk, sturdy, tough, and 

"Who threatens the King of Sicily ?'' he de- 
manded, as, sword in hand, he stepped upon the 
little bridge. 

The German baron faced his new antagonist. 
" So ! is it thou, Count Diephold ; is it thou, 
Aloe of Acerra ? " he said. " By what right dar'st 
thou to question the Baron of Kapparon, guardian 
of the King, and chief Captain of Sicily ?" 

" ' Guardian,' forsooth ! ' Chief Captain,' say'st 
thou?" cried the Count of Acerra, angrily. 
"Pig of Kapparon, robber and pirate, yield up 

the boy ! I, who was comrade of Henry the 
Emperor, will stand guardian for his son. Ho, 
Buds of the Aloe, strike for your master's weal ! " 

There is a flash of steel as the two leaders cross 
ready swords. There is a rush of thronging feet 
as the followers of each prepare for fight. There 
is a mingling of battle cries — " Ho, for the Crested 
Boar of Kapparon ! " " Stand, for the Aloe of 
Acerra ! " — when for the third time the purple 
citron-flowers sway and break, as a third band of 
armed men spur to the lake-side. Through the 
green of the foliage flashes the banner of Sicily, — 
the golden eagle on the blood-red field, — -and 
the ringing voice of a third leader rises above the 
din, " Ho, Liegemen of the Church ! rescue for 
the ward of the Pope ! Rescue for the King of 
Sicily ! " 

The new-comer, Walter of Palear, the " fighting 
bishop of Catania " (as he was called) and Chan- 
cellor of Sicily, reined in his horse between the op- 
posing bands of the Boar and the Aloe. His richly 
broidered cope, streaming back, showed his coat 
of mail beneath, as, with lifted sword, he shouted : 

" Hold your hands, lords of Apulia ! stay spears 
and stand aside. Yield up the King to me — to 
me, the Chancellor of the realm ! " 

"Off now, thou false Chancellor! " cried Count 
Diephold. " Think'st thou that the revenues of 
Sicily are for thy treasure-chest alone ? Ho, Boars 
and Aloes both ; down with this French fox, and 
up with Sicily ! " 

" Seize the boy and hold him hostage ! " shouted 
William of Kapparon, and with extended arm he 
strode toward poor little Frederick. With a sud- 
den and nimble turn, the boy dodged the clutch 
of the baron's mailed fist, and putting one hand 
on the coping of the bridge, without a moment's 
hesitation, he vaulted over into the lake. Abder- 
achman the Saracen sprang after him. 

" How now, thou pirate of Kapparon," broke 
out Count Diephold ; " thou shalt pay dearly for 
this, if the lad doth drown ! " 

But Frederick was a good swimmer, and the 
lake was not deep. The falcon on his wrist 
fluttered and tugged at its jess, disturbed by this 
unexpected bath ; but the boy held his hand high 
above his head and, supported by the Saracen, 
soon reached the shore. Here the retainers of 
the Chancellor crowded around him, and spring- 
ing to the saddle of a ready war-horse, the lad 
shouted, " Ho, for Palermo, all ! which chief shall 
first reach St. Agatha's gate with me, to him will 
I yield myself ! " and, wheeling his horse, he 
dashed through the mingled bands and sped like 
an arrow through the gardens of La Zisa. 

The three contesting captains looked at one 
another in surprise. 

*The Sirocco is a fierce south-easterly wind of Sicily and the Mediterranean. 




" The quarry hath slipped," laughed Count 
Diephold. "By St. Nicholas of Myra, though, 
the lad is of the true Suabian eagle's brood. Try 
we the test, my lords ! " 

There was a sudden mounting of steeds, a 
hurrying gallop after the flying king ; but the 
Chancellor's band, being already in the saddle, had 
the advantage, and as young King Frederick and 
Walter the Chancellor passed under St. Agatha's 
pointed arch, the Knights of the Crested Boar 
and of the Aloe-stalk saw in much disgust the 
great gate close in their faces, and they were left 
on the wrong side of Palermo's walls, — outwitted 
by a boy. 

But the baffled knights were not the men to give 
up the chase so easily. Twenty Pisan galleys, 
manned by Count Diephold's fighting-men, lay in 
the Cala port of Palermo. That very night, they 
stormed under the walls of Castellamare, routed 
the Saracens of the royal guard, sent Walter the 
Chancellor flying for his life toward Messina ; and, 
with young Frederick in his power, Diephold, the 
usurping Count of Acerra, ruled Sicily in the 
name of the poor little king. 

In the royal palace at Palermo, grand and gor- 
geous with columns and mosaics and gilded walls, 
this boy of thirteen — Frederick of Hohenstaufen, 
Emperor Elect of Germany, King of Sicily, and 
" Lord of the World " — sat, the day after his capt- 
ure by Count Diephold, sad, solitary, and forlorn. 

The son of Henry the Sixth of Germany, the 
most victorious but most cruel of the Hohenstaufen 
emperors, and of Constance the Empress, daughter 
of Roger, the great Norman King of Sicily, Fred- 
erick had begun life on December the twenty- 
sixth, 1 194, as heir to two powerful kingdoms. 
His birth had been the occasion of great rejoicings, 
and vassal princes and courtier poets had hailed 
him as " the Imperial Babe, the Glory of Italy, 
the Heir of the Caesars, the Reformer of the 
World and the Empire ! " When but two years 
old, he had been proclaimed King of the Romans 
and Emperor Elect of Germany, and, when but 
three, he had, on the death of his father, been 
crowned King of Sicily and Apulia, in the great 
Cathedral of Palermo. 

But in all those two sovereignties, no sadder- 
hearted nor lonelier lad could have been found than 
this boy of thirteen, this solitary and friendless 
orphan, this Frederick of Hohenstaufen, the Boy 
Emperor. In Germany his uncle Philip of Suabia 
and Otho of Brunswick disputed the imperial 
crown. And beautiful Sicily, the land of his birth, 
the land over which he was acknowledged as king, 
was filled with war and blood. From the lemon 
groves of Messina to the flowery slopes of Palermo, 
noble and priest, Christian and Saracen, French 

and German, strove for power and ravaged the 
land with fire and sword. Deprived sometimes of 
even the necessities of life, deserted by those who 
should have stood loyal to him, often hungry and 
always friendless, shielded from absolute want only 
by the pity of the good burghers of Palmero, used 
in turn by every faction and made the excuse 
for every feud, this heir to so great power was 
himself the most powerless of kings, the most 
unhappy of boys. And now, as he sits in his gleam- 
ing palace, uncertain where to turn for help, all 
his sad young heart goes into an appealing letter 
which has come down to us across the centuries, 
and a portion of which is here given to complete 
the dismal picture of this worried young monarch 
of long ago : 

"To all the Kings of the world and to all the 
Princes of the universe, the innocent boy, King of 
Sicily, called Frederick : Greeting in God's name ! 
Assemble yourselves, ye nations; draw nigh, ye 
princes, and see if any sorrow be like unto my 
sorrow ! My parents died ere I could know their 
caresses, and I, a gentle lamb among wolves, fell 
into slavish dependence upon men of various tribes 
and tongues. My daily bread, my drink, my free- 
dom, all are measured out to me in scanty pro- 
portion. No king am I. I am ruled, instead of 
ruling. I beg favors, instead of granting them. 
Again and again I beseech you, O ye princes of 
the earth, to aid me to withstand slaves, to set 
free the son of Caesar, to raise up the crown of the 
kingdom, and to gather together again the scat- 
tered people -! " 

But it is a long lane that has no turning, and 
before many months came another change in the 
kaleidoscope of this young king's fortunes. Pope 
Innocent the Third had been named by the Em- 
press Constance as guardian of her orphaned boy 
To him Walter the Chancellor appealed for aid. 
Knights and galleys were soon in readiness. Pal- 
ermo was stormed. Count Diephold was over- 
thrown and imprisoned in the castle dungeon. 
Kapparon and his Pisan allies and Saracen serfs 
were driven out of Sicily, and the " son of Caesar" 
reigned as king once more. Then came a new 
alliance. Helped on by the Pope, a Spanish friend- 
ship ripened into a speedy marriage. Frederick 
was declared of age when he reached his fourteenth 
birthday, and a few months after, on the fifteenth of 
August, 1209, amid great rejoicings which filled 
Palermo with brilliancy and crowded the narrow 
and crooked streets with a glittering throng, the 
" Boy of Apulia," as he was called, was married to 
the wise and beautiful Constance, the daughter of 
Alfonso, King of Arragon. This alliance gave the 
young husband the desired opportunity ; for, with 
five hundred foreign knights at his back, he 


6 3 I 

asserted his authority over his rebellious subjects 
as King of Sicily. The poor little prince, whose 
childhood had known only misfortune and unhap- 
piness, became a prince indeed, and, boy though he 
was, took so manly and determined a stand that, 
ere the year was out, his authority was supreme 
from the walls of Palermo to the straits of Messina. 

Meantime, in Germany, affairs had been going 
from bad to worse. Frederick's uncle, Philip of Sua- 
bia, had been assassinated at Bamberg, and Otho of 
Brunswick, head of the house of Guelf, crossed the 
Alps, was crowned Emperor at Rome, and marched 
into southern Italy, threatening the conquest of 
his boy rival's Sicilian kingdom. 

Again trouble threatened the youthful monarch. 
Anxious faces looked seaward from the castle 
towers ; and, hopeless of withstanding any attack 
from Otho's hardy and victorious troops, Frederick 
made preparations for flight when once his gigan- 
tic rival should thunder at Palermo's gates. 

"Tidings, my lord King; tidings from the 
North ! " said Walter the Chancellor, entering the 
King's apartment one bright November day in the 
year 1211. " Here rides a galley from Gaeta in 
the Cala port, and in it comes the Suabian Knight 
Anselm von Justingen, with a brave and trusty 
following. He beareth word to thee, my lord, from 
Frankfort and from Rome." 

" How, then ; has Otho some new design against 
our crown?" said Frederick. "I pray thee, 
good Chancellor, give the Knight of Suabia in- 
stant audience." 

And soon, through the gothic door-way of that 
gorgeous palace of the old Norman and older Sara- 
cen lords of Sicily, came the bluff German Knight 
Anselm von Justingen, bringing into its perfumed 
air some of the strength and resoluteness of his 
sturdy Suabian breezes. With a deep salutation, 
he greeted the royal boy. 

" Hail, O King ! " he said. " I bring thee word 
of note. Otho, the Guelf, whom men now call 
Emperor, is speeding toward the North. Never 
more need Sicily fear his grip. The throne which 
he usurps is shaken and disturbed. The world 
needs an emperor who can check disorders and 
bring it life and strength. Whose hand may do 
this so surely as thine — the illustrious Lord Fred- 
erick of the grand old Hohenstaufen line, the Elect 
King of the Romans, the Lord of Sicily ? " 

Frederick's eye flashed and his cheek flushed at 
the grand prospect thus suddenly opened before 
him. But he replied slowly and thoughtfully. 

" By laws human and by right divine," he 
said, " the empire is my inheritance. But canst 
thou speak for the princes of the empire ? " 

" Ay, that can I," said the knight ; " I bear with 
me papers signed and sent by them. We have 

each of us examined as to our will. We have 
gone through all the customary rites. And we 
all in common, O King, turn our eyes to thee." 

" 1 thank the princes for their faith and fealty," 
said Frederick; "but can they be trusty liegemen 
to a Boy Emperor ? " 

" Though young in years, O King," said the 
Suabian, "thou art old in character; though not 
fully grown in person, thy mind hath been by 
nature wonderfully endowed. Thou dost exceed 
the common measure of thine equals ; thou art 
blest with virtues before thy day, as doth become 
one of the true blood of that august stock, the 
Caesars of Germany. Thou wilt surely increase 
the honor and might of the empire and the hap- 
piness of us, thy loyal subjects." 

"And the Pope ? " queried the boy ; for in those 
days the Pope of Rome was the "spiritual lord" 
of the Christian world. To him all emperors, 
kings, and princes owed allegiance as obedient 
vassals. To assume authority without the Pope's 
consent and blessing meant trouble and excommu- 
nication. Frederick knew this, and knew also that 
his former guardian, Pope Innocent, had, scarce two 
years before, himself crowned his rival Otho of 
Brunswick as Emperor of Germany. 

" I am even now from Rome," replied Von 
Justingen; "and Pope Innocent, provoked beyond 
all patience at the unrighteous ways of this Emperor, 
falsely so called, hath excommunicated Otho, hath 
absolved the princes from their oath of fealty, and 
now sends to thee, Frederick of Hohenstaufen, his 
blessing and his bidding that thou go forward and 
enter upon thine inheritance." 

The young Sicilian sat for some moments deep 
in thought. It was a tempting bait — this of an 
imperial crown — to one who felt it to be his by 
right, but who had never dared to expect nor aspire 
to it. 

"Von Justingen," he said at last, "good knight 
and true, I know thou art loyal to the house of 
Staufen and loyal to thy German fatherland. 'T is 
a royal offer and a danger-fraught attempt. But 
what man dares, that dare I ! When duty calls, 
foul be his fame who shrinketh from the test. The 
blood of kings is mine ; like a king, then, will I 
go forward to my heritage, and win or die in its 
achieving ! " 

"There flashed the Hohenstaufen fire," said the 
delighted Von Justingen; " there spoke the spirit 
of thy grandsire, the glorious old Kaiser Red 
Beard ! Come thou with me to Germany, my 
prince. We will make thee Caesar indeed, though 
the false Otho and all his legions are thundering 
at Frankfort gates." 

So. in spite of the entreaties of his queen, and 
the protests of his Sicilian lords, who doubted the 




wisdom of the undertaking, the young monarch 
hurried forward the preparations for his perilous 
attempt. The love of adventure, which has im- 
pelled many another boy to face risk and danger, 
flamed high in the heart of this lad of seventeen, 
as, with undaunted spirit, he sought to press forward 
for the prize of an imperial throne. On March the 
eighteenth, 1212, the "Emperor of the Romans 
Elect," as he already styled himself, set out from 
orange-crowned Palermo on the "quest for his heri- 
tage " in the bleak and rugged North. The galley 
sped swiftly over the blue Mediterranean to the dis- 
tant port of Gaeta, and upon its deck the four chosen 
comrades that formed his little band gathered 
around the fair-haired young prince, who, by the 
daring deed that drew him from Palermo's sun-lit 
walls, was to make for himself a name and fame 
that should send him down to future ages as Stu- 
por Alundi Fredericks — " Frederick, the Wonder 
of the World ! " In all history there is scarcely to 
be found a more romantic tale of wandering than 
this story of the adventures of young Frederick of 
Hohenstaufen in search of his empire. 

From Palermo to strong-walled Gaeta, the 
" Gibraltar of Italy," from Gaeta on to Rome, he 
sailed with few adventures, and here he knelt be- 
fore the Pope, who, as he had crowned and dis- 
crowned Otho of Brunswick, the big and burly 
rival of his fair young ward, now blessed and aided 
the "Boy from Sicily," and helped him on his 
way with money and advice. From Rome to 
Genoa, under escort of four Genoese galleys, the 
boy next cautiously sailed ; for all the coast 
swarmed with the armed galleys of Pisa, the 
stanch supporter of the discrowned Otho. With 
many a tack and many a turn the galleys headed 
north, while the watchful lookouts scanned the 
horizon for hostile prows. On the first of May, the 
peril of Pisa was past, and Genoa's gates opened 
to receive him. Genoa was called the " door " to 
his empire, but foes and hardships lay in wait for 
him behind the friendly door. On the fifteenth of 
July, the boy and his escort of Genoese lancers 
climbed the steep slopes of the Ligurian hills and 
struck across the plains of Piedmont for the walls 
of Pavia, the " city of the hundred towers." The 
gates of the grand old Lombard capital flew open 
to welcome him, and royally attended, with a great 
crimson canopy held above his head, and knights 
and nobles following in his train, the "Child of 
Apulia " rode through the echoing streets. 

But Milan lay to the north, and Piacenza to the 
south, both fiercely hostile cities, while the highway 
between Pavia and Cremona rang with the war-cries 
of the partisans of Otho the Guelf. So, secretly 
and at midnight, the Pavian escort rode with the 
boy out through their city gates, and moved 

cautiously along the valley of the Po, to where, 
at the ford of the Lambro, the knights of Cremona 
waited in the dark of an early Sunday morning 
to receive • their precious charge. And none too 
soon did they reach the ford ; for, scarcely was 
the young emperor spurring on toward Cremona, 
when the Milanese troops, in hot pursuit, dashed 
down upon the returning Pavian escort, and routed 
it with great loss. But the boy rode on unharmed ; 
and soon Cremona, since famous for its wonderful 
violins, hailed with loud shouts of welcome the 
young adventurer. 

From Cremona on to Mantua, and then on to 
Verona, the boy was passed along by friendly 
hands and vigilant escorts, until straight before 
him the mighty wall of the Alps rose, as if to bar 
his further progress. But through the great hill- 
rifts stretched the fair valley of the Adige ; and 
from Verona, city of palaces, to red-walled Trent, 
the boy and his Veronese escort hurried on along 
the banks of the swift-flowing river. Midway be- 
tween the two cities, his escort turned back ; and 
with but a handful of followers the young monarch 
demanded admittance at the gates of the old 
Roman town, which, overhung by great Alpine 
precipices, guards the southern entrance to the 
Tyrol. Trent received him hesitatingly ; and, in- 
stalled in the Bishop's palace, he and his little 
band sought fair escort up the valley and over the 
Brenner pass, the highway into Germany. But 
now came dreary news. 

"My lord King," said the wavering Bishop of 
Trent, undecided which side to favor, " 't is death 
for you to cross the Brenner. From Innspruck 
down to Botzen the troops of Otho of Brunswick 
line the mountain-ways, and the Guelf himself, so 
say my coursermen, is speeding on to trap Your 
Mightiness within the walls of Trent." 

Here was a dilemma. But trouble, which comes 
to " Mightinesses " as well as to untitled boys and 
girls, must be boldly faced before it can be over- 

"My liege," said the Knight of Suabia, stout 
Anselm von Justingen, "before you lies the em- 
pire and renown ; behind you, Italy and defeat. 
Which shall it be ? " 

" The empire or death ! " said the resolute 

" But Otho guards the Brenner pass, my lord," 
said the Bishop. 

"Is there none other road but this?" asked 

" None," replied Von justingen, "save, indeed, 
the hunter's track across the western mountains to 
the Grisons and St. Gall. But it is beset with 
perils and deep with ice and snow." 

" The greater the dangers faced, the greater 



the glory gained," said plucky young Frederick. 
" Now, who will follow me, come danger or come 
death, across the mountains yonder to the empire 
and to fortune ? " and every man of his stout little 
company vowed to follow him, and to stand by their 
young master, the Emperor elect. 

So it was that, in the first months of the early fall, 
with a meager train of forty knights, the Boy Em- 

The hurrying hoofs of the royal train clatter 
over the draw-bridge and through the great gate. 
Constance is won ! but hard behind, in a cloud of 
dust, comes Frederick's laggard rival, Otho. 

His herald's trumpet sounds a summons, and 
the Bishop of Constance and the Archbishop of 
Bari stand forward on the walls. 

" What ho, there, warders of the gate ! " came 

peror boldly climbed the rugged Alpine slopes, 
mounting higher and higher, and braving the 
dangers of glacier and avalanche, blind paths 
and storm and cold, and pressed manfully on 
toward an uncertain empire. 

But though the risk was great, no one was 
merrier than he ; and at last, with only sixty 
knights and a few spearmen of Appenzell, the 
young monarch climbed the steps of the Rup- 
pen, the last of the Alpine passes that had 
separated him from the land of his forefathers. 

But now comes the word that Otho and 
his knights are on the track of the boy, and 
certain of his capture. On the young Em- 
peror hurries, therefore, and from the final 
Alpine slope he sees in the distance the 
walls of the strong old city of Constance glit- 
tering in the sun. 

Soon a messenger who has been sent forward 

comes spurring back. " Haste ye, my liege ! " he 

cries. " Otho is already in sight ; his pennons 

have been seen by the lookout on the city towers." 

Vol. XL — 41. 


the summons of the herald; " open, open ye the 
gates of Constance to your master and lord, Otho 
the Emperor! " 

The thronging spear-tips and the swaying crests 
of Otho's two hundred knights flashed in the sun, 




and the giant form of the big Brunswicker strode 
out before his following. But the voice of young 
Frederick's stanch friend and comrade, Berard, 
Archbishop of Bari, rang out clear and quick. 

" Tell thy master, Otho of Brunswick," he said, 
"that Constance gates open only at the bidding 
of their rightful lord, Frederick of Hohenstaufen, 
Emperor of the Romans and King of Sicily." 

Otho, deeply enraged at this refusal, spurred 
furiously forward, and his knights laid spears in 

And now it was won indeed. From every part 
of Germany came princes, nobles, and knights 
flocking to the Imperial standard. Otho retired 
to his stronghold in Brunswick ; and on the fifth 
of December, 1212, in the old Romer, or council- 
house, of Frankfort, five thousand knights with the 
electors of Germany welcomed the " Boy from 
Sicily." Four days after, in the great cathedral of 
Mayence, the pointed arches and rounded dome of 
which rose high above the storied Rhine, the 

rest to follow their leader ; but the Bishop of Con- 
stance commanded hastily, "Ho, warders; up 
draw-bridge — quick ! " 

The great chains clanked and tightened, the 
heavy draw-bridge rose in air, and Otho of 
Brunswick saw the gates of Constance swing 
shut in his very face, and knew that his cause 
was lost. 

By just so narrow a chance did young Frederick 
of Hohenstaufen win his Empire. 


sad little prince of but five years back 
was solemnly crowned in presence of a 
glittering throng, which with cheers of welcome, 
hailed him as Emperor. 

And here we leave him. Only seventeen, 
Frederick of Hohenstaufen — the beggar prince, 
the friendless orphan of Palermo, after trials and 
dangers and triumphs stranger than those of 
any prince of fairy tales or "Arabian Nights" — 
entered upon a career of empire that has placed 
him in history as "one of the most remarkable 
figures of the Middle Ages." 





By Mrs. S. B. Herrick. 

wet weath- 

Thc big 
midst of the 
close up to 
nut and tu- 
uringten or 

The chil- 
stood on the 
day was all 
his hand a 
to his lips 
and then 
soft, mellow 
where she 
the sugar, 
fast: "My 

Then the 
Will blew 
house send 
brought an- 

HE children's home was 
a large, rambling frame 
house with a great many 
rooms in it, and with 
long entries that turned 
off short, as if they had 
heard an order, "Right about 
face," and obeyed with sol- 
dierly precision. Across the 
front of the house and all 
along the southern side were 
deep, two-storied porches with 
around them ; prime play-places in 
er they were, too. 
brown house was set down in the 
Virginia mountains. Crowding 
the back door were immense chest- 
lip-poplar trees, with trunks meas- 
twelve feet around, 
dren, Will, Harry, and little Emily, 
southern porch, waiting. The 
freshness of a perfect summer 
around them. Will held in 
large conch-shell, which he raised 
every now and then as he talked, 
dropped again. Mrs. Carrington's 
voice came from the dining-room, 
had been employed in getting out 
butter.honey, and cream for break- 
son, you may blow the horn now." 
conch went up to some purpose, for 
such a ringing blast as made the 
which rose abruptly behind the 
back a quick-replying echo, and 
other boyish figure out of the open 
door with a sudden rush. 

"Well, Will I" said the new-comer, "what on 
earth was that for ? I thought it was the crack of 

" That," said Will, very impressively, " was for 

" How do you manage it, old fellow?" said 
Arthur, making several ineffectual attempts to 
blow some sound out from the pierced shell which 
Will handed to him. 

"Oh, it's easy enough when you know how," 
said Will, with an air of superior wisdom. " I '11 
teach you how after breakfast. We have n't time 
for it, now. " 

The children's cousin Arthur had come from 

the North only the evening before, to pay them a 
visit at their home. It was his first experience of 
the old-fashioned Virginia way of living, and he 
naturally inquired about everything that seemed 
novel or strange to him, while Will felt very im- 
portant at having so many questions asked which 
he was able to answer. 

"I say, Will," said Arthur, "what are all 
those queer-looking little baby-houses under the 
trees ? I never saw a whole city of baby-houses 

"Baby-houses? — those!" exclaimed Will, the 
puzzled look on his face clearing away as he fol- 
lowed the direction of Arthur's gaze, " Oh, those 
are bee-hives." 

" Harry!" continued Will, with more frankness 
than politeness, "what do you think? Arthur 
wants to know what the bee-hives are ! He calls 
them baby-houses." 

" Bee-hives ! " said Arthur, rather contemptu- 
ously ; " in New York we have round-topped hives, 
like an Eskimo hut, you know." 

" Ho, ho," laughed Will. " Now, do tell me 
in what part of New York you saw those ante- 
diluvian bee-hives." 

Brought to book, Arthur was forced to confess 
that he had not seen any hives at all; that his 
meager knowledge had been gained from a pict- 
ure in one of his old scrap-books. And for the 
honor of his native State, he at last reluctantly ad- 
mitted that perhaps they had given up straw hives 
and used the patent Langstroth hive, and that 
New York bee-keepers did not now have to 
smother every swarm of bees in order to secure 
their winter stock of honey. 

" Of course they don't," said Harry ; " Father 
bought his hives in New York at first, and his 
Italian queen-bee, too." 

The boys' eager talk of bees, bee-keeping, and 
bee-hunting was interrupted by Mr. Carrington's 
coming in from the orchard with a basket of great 
rosy peaches in his hand. 

"Come, boys," he said cheerily, "lend us a 
hand at breakfast ; plenty of time for talking after- 

" Yes; and a safer place for talking, too ! " ex- 
claimed Arthur, as he retreated in-doors to escape 
the hum of a bee which seemed to him to be dan- 
gerously near his ears. 

" Father," said Will, breaking the silence which 

6 3 6 



accompanied the first onslaught upon batter-cakes, 
corn-bread, and rolls, " can't you take Arthur and 
Harry and me out bee-hunting with you to-day, 
and give Arthur the bees and honey we find, just 


as you did last summer with Harry and me? Wont 
you, Father? " 

"Yes," said Mr. Carrington ; "that is a very 
good idea. To-day is just the day for a bee-hunt. 
If Arthur does n't feel too tired after his journey, 
we will go and see if we can find my bee-tree. I 
have caught and sent out half a dozen wild bees in 
the pasture just over the mountain, and I think 
the tree can not be more than two miles away." 

"Caught and sent out bees, Uncle Hugh!" 
said Arthur, bewildered; "what do you mean ? " 

" I will show you better than I can tell you, if 
you feel like going," answered his uncle. 

" I 'm not tired before breakfast, Uncle," said 
Arthur; "of course I feel like going." 

" In the meantime I will let you into some of the 
secrets of bee-housekeeping in the village un- 
der the chestnuts, as soon as we have finished 
breakfast," said his uncle. 

" Wont they sting ? " said Arthur, rather timidly. 

"We shall provide against that," Mr. Carring- 

ton answered, good-humoredly. "We shall don 
our coats of mail before we invade their territory." 
When the boys had disposed of their breakfast, 
and were fidgeting in their chairs, longing to be 
off, Mr. Carrington went into a 
store-room, called by common con- 
sent "the bee-room," and brought 
out the " coats of mail." First 
came the helmet, which was a 
cylinder of wire-gauze about fif- 
teen inches high and nine across, 
just large enough to slip over 
his head and rest comfortably on 
his shoulders. This bee-hat was 
closed over the top by a round 
piece of calico ; on the bottom 
was sewed a curtain of the same 
calico slit up in two places on 
opposite sides. 

Mr. Carrington arranged the 
cylinder so that these slits came 
over his broad shoulders, tucking 
one-half the curtain into the back 
of his coat, while the other half 
he buttoned inside his coat in 
front. He then drew on a pair of 
india-rubber gardening gauntlets. 
"Now," he said, "I am bee-proof. 
Put this other hat and pair of 
gloves on yourself, my boy, and 
let us have a look at the hives." 

Arthur equipped himself in the 
novel suit of armor, and followed 
his uncle out to bee-town. 

Mr. Carrington stopped before 
the shelving platform in front of a 
hive. Taking hold by the projecting eaves of the 
flat roof, he lifted off the top, showing a square 
box in which hung six oblong frames, which were 
full of delicious honey-combs of a delicate creamy 
yellow, and fragrant with the odor of flowers. A 
few bees were crawling over the combs, but only 
a few, and these seemed very peacefully inclined. 

"Did those few bees make all that honey?" 
said Arthur. 

" No, indeed," said his uncle ; " we are coming 
to the bees presently. This is only a store-house 
where the bees put the honey for me, after they 
have filled their own hive, which is underneath 
this. I will come to their home when I have dis- 
posed of these combs. 

Carefully removing the frames, Mr. Carrington 
uncovered the lower box, and began taking out the 
frame of comb from it. This honey looked very 
different from that in the upper story. Instead of 
being a delicate yellow, the comb was of an ugly 
brown, some of the cells capped over with a shallow- 



domed roof of wax, others open and full of honey. 
The whole comb was swarming with bees, sucking 
away at the honey, as if 'for dear life. 

"What makes this comb so brown, Uncle 
Hugh ? " said Arthur. 

"It is old comb," said Mr. Carrington, 
' ' and has been used over and over again 
for different purposes ; for storing honey and 
bee-bread, and even as cradles for the baby 
bees. When a young bee is hatched and 
leaves its cell, it leaves behind its first baby- 
clothes, which, of course, are the cocoon, or 
chrysalis, in which it grew from the maggot 
state into its perfect beehood. When the infant 
bee comes out of its cell, other bees go in to clean 
out the deserted chamber. Instead of throwing out 
the baby-clothes they find there, they glue them 
carefully against the walls of the cell, thus thick- 
ening and strengthening it, but at the same time 
making it look ugly and brown. Some cells have 
been found to have a series of seven or eight of these 
linings, one corresponding to each baby that has 
been hatched there. After awhile the cell gets 
too small for cradle purposes, and then it is used 
as a store-room." 

" Notice these bees, Arthur ; see, here is a brown 
bee ; these others, you see, are yellow. The brown 
bees are wild bees ; the yellow ones are Italian. 
See, here is a beauty," he said, taking up a light- 

don't you see the golden bands across the body? 
That shows it to be an Italian." 

"And are the Italian bees better than the wild 
i , 


a, drone ; /', worker ; c, queen. 

bees ? " further queried his nephew, as he carefully 
examined the pretty one his uncle held. 

" They are gentler." said Mr. Carrington, strok- 
ing the bee tenderly with the tip of his gloved finger, 
as though he loved it. "And it is said that the 
Italian bee has a longer proboscis, and so can get 
honey from the red clover, which is so abundant 
hereabout. / thought they were better ; for, when 
I was a very poor man, I bought an Italian queen- 
bee in the big city of New York, and paid twenty- 
dollars for her, and I have never yet repented of my 
extravagance. I have now sixty-nine hives of pure 
Italian bees, and they are all the descendants of 
my pretty queen. Allowing forty thousand bees 
to a swarm, which is a moderate number, it is not 
a bad showing for her majesty. Let me see, forty 

, comb; d, drone cells; w, worker cells; t, store cells of intermediate size; 6, capped honey cells; m, cell with maggot; * 
with eggs ; g, queen cell ; B, sidewise view of comb ; C, queen cell with lid cut off by bees to let her majesty out. 


yellow bee on the forefinger of his clumsy india- thousand by sixty-nine makes — well, at least two 

rubber glove ; " this is a pure Italian bee." and a half millions of living descendants, besides 

"What is the difference, Uncle Hugh?" asked dozens of queens I have given away, with all their 

Arthur. descendants ; these, added to the multitudes that 

" The difference? "said Mr. Carrington. "Why, have lived and died in the meantime, must make, 

6 3 8 




all together, not far from two hundred millions in 
twelve years." 

Taking out frame after frame, Mr. Carrington 
looked carefully over each one as he talked. " See 
here, my boy; here, in this knot of bees, is the 
queen. She is the mother of every Italian queen in 
this hive and of many thousands of bees besides. 
There she is, the one with the long, slender body. 
See how different she is from the worker bees. 
Here is a drone, too, that has somehow managed to 
escape the August slaughter. See how heavy and 

clumsy he looks. Here are all three kinds of bees 
together, — queen, workers, and drones." 

" What is the August slaughter ? Do you kill the 
drones in August ? " asked Arthur. 

"No," said Mr. Carrington, "/do not, but the 
working bees do. In August, usually, but always 
aftermidsummer, the bees become tired of support- 
ing the drones in idleness, so they sting them to 
death. I opened this hive," added Mr. Carrington, 
" on purpose to show you a queen's cell. Do you 
see that thing like a peanut, hanging from the 

i88 4 ] 



lower edge of the comb? [Fig. 2, g]. That is the cell 
of a new queen the bees are making. This [Fig. 
2, A] is a very irregular piece of comb ; on the 
left are the large cells, the drone cells, on the 
right are the worker cells, and between the two are 
intermediate sizes ; many people consider the per- 
fect symmetry of honey-comb a great marvel. It 
seems to me that these irregularities are much more 
marvelous, for the bees evidently reason about it ; 
they never waste a bit of room. 

" These brood cells, that is, the cells in which 
the queen lays her eggs, are either drone size for 
drone eggs, or worker size for worker eggs. She 
makes no mistakes." 

" What? Do you mean that the queen always 
lays the right egg in the right place ? How can 
she know ? " said Arthur. 

" That is one of the mysteries, but it is a fact. 
So long as a queen retains her faculties, she makes 
no mistakes ; sometimes a queen grows very old, 
or for some other well-known reason becomes a 
little ' cracked,' then she does make mistakes. 
But our little queen, here, is a very Elizabeth for in- 
telligence. You see, up there among the worker 
cells, one [Fig. 2, m] with a small white worm 
in it. Well, that is about as sure to come out a 
worker when it hatches as that the sun will rise 
to-morrow. See, here [Fig. 2, d] are some drone 
cells, and here again [b] capped-over honey cells." 

" Uncle, you said just now that the bees were 
' making a queen. ' How can they make a queen ? " 
asked Arthur. 

" That is a long story, and I must leave it for 
another time. It will keep," answered Uncle Hugh, 
with a good-humored smile. 

After an early dinner Mr. Carrington, Will, 
Harry, and Arthur, loaded with bee-hats, gloves, 
and other paraphernalia, stood on the porch, wait- 
ing for the start. Little Emily, looking wistfully 
at them, said: "Father, may n't I go, too?" 

" O, no!" said Harry, " girls are a nuisance; 
they are always tumbling down, or hurting them- 
selves, or tearing their clothes." 

" No, little one; I am afraid you would not be 
able to stand the walk," said her father. 

" Yes, I would, Papa. I stood the walk to 
church last Sunday, and it was three miles." 

" Yes, Father," said Will, "she did. If she gets 
tired, I '11 help her. She's a brave little body." 

" Well, run in and see what Mamma says; tell 
her it 's a good two miles to the bee-tree and back, 
and ask her if she thinks you can stand it," said 
Mr. Carrington. 

"Mother says," said Emily, out of breath, 
" that she thinks I can stand it, and that Aunt Nancy 
lives in that d'rection, an' if 1 get tired, I can stay 
with Aunt Nancy till you come back." 

"Aunt Nancy " was an old colored woman, who 
often worked about the house for Mrs. Carrington. 

"Very well, daughter," said her father; "get 
your own little bee-hat and gloves, and come on." 

The party started off, Mr. Carrington taking the 
lead with his staff, the boys following with boxes 
and baskets for the bees and the honey they were 
to capture, little Emily trudging on cheerfully be- 
hind with a bundle of rags in one hand, and the 
other clasped closely in Arthur's. The boys were 
talking eagerly with their Father and one another. 

" I wish to look a little closer at that staff your 
father has in his hand," said Arthur to Will. 

Mr. Carrington's staff [see initial letter] was a 
long stout stick, having an iron point on the lower 

/', honey-box; h, hive; a, alighting-board; a, door; c, c, 

blocks placed to narrow the opening ; f, frame for comb, 

which hangs inside the hive and the honey-box. 


end, and on the upper a small diamond-shaped 
platform, nine by five inches, making it appear, as 
you looked at it sidewise, a long-legged letter T, 
with a very short cross-piece above. On the little 
platform, at the two sharp ends of the diamond, 
were two pins for " sights," like the little knobs 
on a rifle by which the hunter takes aim. Besides 
this staff, Mr. Carrington had with him a small 
trumpet-shaped implement made out of a common 
gourd, in the small end of which a piece of glass 
was fitted, — a sort of gourd-funnel with the small 
end covered with glass. He also had a piece of full 
honey-comb and a bottle of anise oil. 

" Boys," said Mr. Carrington, " I know just 
about where our bee-tree is, for I have been looking 
out for it during all the week ; so we can manage 
the whole business this afternoon. Usually," he 
said, turning to Arthur, "we hunt our bee-tree 
and mark it one day. and go out for the bees and 
honey another. Marking a tree with my initials 
makes that tree mine, according to the bee-hunt- 
ers' code, no matter on whose land the tree may 
be. We always ask permission of the owner, of 
course, but it is never refused. Trees are not 





counted for much hereabout; besides, the bees 
always go into hollow trees, which are of very little 
value. In old times bees were hunted very differently 
from our modern methods. The bees were sacri- 
ficed for the honey : the goose that laid the golden 
egg was slain. Christian bee-hunters were about 

upon a par with the original wild hunters of the 
woods, the bears and the Indians. But now bee- 
culture is getting to be a great industry all over 
America, especially in California and the great 

The party mounted a steep ridge of land north of 



the house, went " over the mountain," as the boys 
called it, and soon were beyond the home bee- 
pasture. They then began their search for bees. 
In a few minutes Will caught one tippling in the 
bell of a wild morning-glory still wide open in the 
cool shadow of a large rock. He caught it, and 
brought it — buzzing and scolding in its fragrant 
prison-house — to his father. Mr. Carrington 
struck the iron point of his staff into the ground, 
laid the piece of honey-comb, saturated with 
anise, on the diamond-shaped platform, and then 
carefully transferred the bee from the flower to his 
little gourd, closing the larger end with the palm 
of his hand, and turning the smaller end (with the 
glass in it) uppermost. The bee at once rose to 
the light ; he then placed the larger end of the 
trumpet on the comb and waited, covering the 
glass end with his hand. The bee, attracted by 
the smell of honey and anise, — which bees love, 
— dropped down upon the comb and began to fill 
itself with honey ; this a frightened bee always 
does. When the bee became tranquil and happy, 
sucking its beloved nectar, the trumpet was re- 

swarm has grown so large as to crowd the hive and 
they are going to found a colony, or ' swarm,' as it is 
called ; in which case each family will need a sov- 
ereign. As soon as it is clear to the wiseacres 
that it will be necessary to send off a swarm, the 
bees go to work to make a queen. A worker 
maggot, or if there happens to be none in the hive, a 
worker egg, is selected near the edge of the comb. 
Two cells next door to the one in which this mag- 
got is are cleared out, and the dividing walls are cut 
down, so that three ordinary cells are turned into 
one. The food which the worker worm has been 
feeding on is removed, and the little creature is 
supplied with a new kind of food, — a royal jelly. 
Change of food, a larger room, and a different posi- 
tion, — for you remember in the comb I showed you 
yesterday the queen's cell hangs down instead of 
being horizontal, — these three changes oftreatment 
turn the bee that is developing from a worker 
into a queen. She is different in her outer shape, 
different in almost all her organs, and different in 
every single instinct. There is nothing else in all 
nature that seems to me more wonderful than this. 

moved. It went on calmly sucking till it was i>i 
satisfied, and then rising in the air, and cir- 
cling around two or three times to get its 
bearings, it darted off in a bee-line for home. 
The staff was turned so that the longer diam- . 
eter of the platform was in the direction of the 
flight. This direction was marked on the 
ground, and the party sat down to wait for its 
return. Mr. Carrington looked at his watch, and 
then spread his large white handkerchief on the 
grass beside him to help the bee to find them 

' ' Yesterday I told you, Arthur, that I would an- 
swer your question about 'making a queen,'" he 
said. " Now is a good time, while we are waiting 
for our recent visitor to find us again. Bees do not 
usually want more than one queen at a time. In 
fact, they will not have more than one unless the 

1 \S$ fir"™" 


" For fear that one queen may not come out all 
right the provident little creatures usually start 
two or three queen-cells at once. It is curious to 
watch the first queen as she comes out. She 
moves up and down the combs, looking for other 




queen-cells, and if she finds one, she falls 
upon it in the greatest excitement, and stings 
her rival to death. Sometimes, by accident, 
two new queens come out at the same time ; 
then it is wonderful to see the bees. They clear 
a space and bring the two rival queens together, 
and stand back to watch the fight. And it is a 
royal fight indeed ; a fight to the death, for they 
never give up till one or the other is fatally 
stung. The victor is then accepted as sovereign." 

" How is it, Uncle Hugh, if both the queens sting 
at the same time. What does the swarm do 
then ? " 

" That, I believe, never happens. When the two 
queens find themselves in such a position that they 
both will certainly be stung, if they go on, they 
withdraw and ' start fair' again," replied his uncle. 

"What happens if a queen dies?" asked Arthur. 

"At first the bees seem filled with consternation ; 
there is a great hurrying and scurrying through 
the hive. Knots of bees gather at the comb- 
corners, and discuss the political event. They do 
not speak, exactly, but they manage to make 
themselves understood ; for after a few hours they 
quiet down and begin making a queen. Huber, 
the great bee-student, who, though blind, found out 
more about their ways and manners than all the 
seeing eyes in the world before him, made a very 

simple ex- 
periment to 
find out how they 
did talk. He passed 

a fine wire grating, too fine for the bees to get 
through, between the combs in a hive, making 
two separate colonies out of the one swarm. At 
first the half left queenless was in a great ex- 
citement ; pretty soon, however, they quieted down 
and went to work as usual. Somehow, they had 
found out that the queen was safe and sound, though 
they could not see nor touch her. He then put 
another grating beside the first, but about half an 
inch from it. The queenless half became excited, 
and finally began to build queen-cells. If the 
news had been communicated by sight or smell 
or sound, it would have gone through two gratings 
as well as through one ; but if it had been told by 
touching antenna:, the two gratings would put 



an entire stop to conversation, so he thought ; and 
other people, since, have found that such is their 
way of talking. 

" In a great many other ways queens are differ- 
ent from common bees. Her majesty is required 
to do no work; she is cared for and fed and 
cuddled up warm by other bees. All she has to do 

may hold her and tease her, even tear her limb 
from limb, if you have the heart to be so cruel, 
and she will never sting you ; but just let her meet 
another queen and then you will see her sting." 

"There," said Mr. Carrington, starting up, 
" see, there is my bee back at the honey, and it 
has brought a friend with it." Then, looking at his 

is to lay eggs, and that, I 
must do her justice to say, 
she does well. She lays 
sometimes 3000 eggs a day, 
for days together. There is 
one very curious thing I for- 
got to tell you about the queens ; 
will never sting anything but another 


a queen-bee 
queen. You 

watch, " It has been gone 

just four minutes ; the tree 

can not be over a mile from 

by a rough calculation." 

The trumpet was clapped down 

over the sucking bee. Again it was 

allowed to fill itself, and the party 

rose and walked forward in the line 

of the former flight. 

A few minutes' walk and Aunt 

Nancy's house came in sight. It 

was a single-roomed cabin made of rough 

logs filled in with sun-dried mud. At one 

end was a chimney made in the same way, of 

logs plastered with mud. Uncle Mose, Aunt 

Nancy's husband, was sitting on a splint-bottomed 

chair tipped against the wall, fast asleep in the sun. 

•• Well, Emily, do you wish to stay here with 

good old ' Aunt Nancy,' or will you go on with 

us ? " said Mr. Carrington. 

" I will go with you, Father ; I 'm not even a tiny 
bit tired," said the little girl. 

•' Mose ! " called Mr. Carrington. " Come, wake 
up, and help us cut down our bee-tree ! " 




" Law, Mars' Hugh, I war' n't 'sleep ; I war' jist 
a-steddyin'," said Mose, rubbing his eyes. 

" Well, old man, forego your studies for a little 
while, and come and help us. You 'd better take one 
of these boys' bee-hats." 

''Law, no, Mars' Hugh; de bees don't eber 
trouble me, and dose bee-hats hinder my sight." 

Mose disappeared in the cabin, and came out 
bearing a large piece of brilliant pink mosquito- 
netting and an axe. 

" I '11 jist carry 'long dis, wha' de ol ! woman 
kivers up her i'ned clo'es wif, to keep 'em from de 
flies, and I '11 be all right," said Mose. 

" You '11 be sorry if you put that thing on ; it 's 
worse than nothing," said Mr. Carrington. 

" Mars' Hugh," said Mose. impressively, " I 
knows I 's an ign'ant oP niggah, but I does know 
some fings." 

" Very well," said Mr. Carrington, " this is a 
free country, and if you like to be stung, far be it 
from me to interfere with your rights." 

The boys laughed, and Mose put on an added 
shade of dignity. 

" Now, Mose," said Mr. Carrington, " give me 
your mosquito-netting, and take my staff with this 
bee on it, and get the other line while I get mine 
again with the second bee, which seems to have 
eaten its full." 

"Arthur," said his uncle, "you see if Mose 
marks a line by one bee from away over there, 
and I mark another from here by the other bee, 
since they both fly straight, the bee-tree must be 
where these two lines meet. If you were a sur- 
veyor, you could tell me just where that point 
would be. I, being a woodsman, can tell you pretty 
nearly as well." 

" The tree is about a half a mile from here, nor' 
nor' east," he said, returning after a little time, 
having marked Mosc's line. "Now for it, boys, with 
a will ! " 

Picking up their traps they started off in good 
heart over the rough ground, even little Emily, with 
her parcel of rags, merry at their good fortune. 
They followed the bee-line as nearly as possible, 
Mr. Carrington keeping his hat covered with his 
handkerchief, with staff and anised honey-comb 
exposed, so as to draw other bees by both sight 
and smell. They captured many bees, released 
them, and found their bee-line true. Before long 
they noticed one of the released bees going back 
in the direction they had come. 

"Ah, little tell-tale!" said Mr. Carrington, 
"we 've passed your tree, have we? Well, we 
have not passed it far ! " 

They turned upon their steps, and soon found an 
old Spanish oak, which looked as if it might be the 
tree, but they could see no hole. 

" Never mind, boys, trust to the bees again," 
said Mr. Carrington. " They have not guided 
us all this way through the woods to fail us at 
last. Every one of you look at that clear space 
between the boughs. You will probably see 
the bees passing and repassing. Look sharp, 
boys ! " 

They all looked earnestly at the spot indicated, 
but could make out nothing. 

" Father, /see the bees ! " exclaimed Emily, in 
her high treble. "They 're going in right over 
your head." 

Sure enough, the little girl had discovered the 
opening into the hollow tree, not two feet above 
her father's hat. 

"Here, Mose," said Mr. Carrington, "here 's 
your bobinet." 

" Yes, sah," said Mose, enveloping himself in 
folds of pink mosquito-netting, looking preter- 
naturally solemn as the children all laughed. 

" Where are your rags, Emily ? " said her 
father. Taking them, he set them a-smoldering, 
and pushed them into the hole above his head. 

Mose could not get over his grievance, but was 
heard muttering between the blows of his axe, 
" Nev' you min', Mars Will, I tole you once, an' I 
tell you ag'in, de bees don't ever trouble 'bout 

In a few minutes, after Mr. Carrington, Will, 
and Mose had taken their turns at the axe, the tree 
began to show signs of falling ; finally it swayed, 
and under Mose's skillful strokes crashed down, 
the opening into the wild bees' home lying upper- 
most. A log about five feet long, containing the 
hollow, was soon chopped out, and this carefully 
split open, showing sheets of comb and masses 
of bees within. 

Though much quieted by the smoking, some of 
the bees dashed out angrily. All the party but 
Mose being protected by bee-hats were safe, but 
the old man's mosquito-netting proved a poor 
protection. Beating off the bees, he rushed away, 
more and more frantic with their buzzing and their 
stings, and the last thing Mr. Carrington and the 
boys saw of Mose he was flying at full speed, his dig- 
nity all forgotten, his rosy drapery streaming like 
an aurora in the air. The boys shouted, and even 
Mr. Carrington could not help laughing at the 
poor old fellow. When they turned to their work 
again, little Em was found sitting by the tree sob- 
bing, and vainly trying to wipe away her tears with 
the large india-rubber gauntlets through the wire- 
gauze of her bee-hat. She was a pitiful, absurd little 
figure, and the boys laughed silently over her 
unconscious head, while they spoke comforting 
words to her. 

Before the bees had been boxed, and the honey 

i8S 4 .l 



bucketed, Mose came back, as dignified as ever, to 
help " tote de fings home." 

" How 're your stings, Uncle Mose ? " said Will. 

" My stings 're all right, Mars' Will," said Mose 
solemnly ; " I tol' you de bees did n' ever trouble 

The return cavalcade took up its line of march, 
Mose carrying the bucket of honey, Will and his 
father the box of bees, and the other two boys took 
the little girl between them, jumping her over the 
rough places. 

A weary party reached home just as the cows 
were coming up to be milked and the cool breath 
of evening was rising out of its ambush in the deep 

valleys beyond ; but it was a very merry party, in 
spite of its weariness. 

Mr. Carrington and Will carried their box of wild 
bees — there were almost two pecks of bees — 
and emptied them out on the alighting-board of a 
hive ready-stocked with combs and bread to make 
it seem home-like to them ; and then all went up- 
stairs to make ready for their early country tea. 

" Arthur," said his uncle, when they were 
seated around the table, a half an hour later, 
" you have a nice little nest-egg out there in the 
hive under the trees. Many a man has made a fort- 
une with a poorer start. Let us see what you 
will do with your captured treasure, my boy." 


By Maurice Thompson. 

Chapter III. 


Our friends drove on until late in the afternoon 
before they found a suitable spot on which to camp, 
under some scrubby oak-trees, beside a slug- 
gish little brook. There was a spring of very 
good water close by. A farm-house was in sight, 
on a high swell of the prairie. It was flanked by 
broad-winged barns, and half-hidden in a dusky 
apple-orchard. A tall windmill, with a gayly 
painted wheel, was shining and fluttering in the 
bright sunlight. 

As soon as the wagons were stopped the dogs 
leaped out and ran to wallow in the brook. 

The man who had driven the camp-wagon soon 
had the horses cared for and the tents put up. 
The luncheon brought from home was spread 
upon a clean cloth, and the boys thought they 
had never before eaten anything quite so good. 
The long ride in the open air and the excitement 
of the sport had whetted their appetites. Hugh 
said the sun had burned the back of his neck so 
badly that he believed the skin would come off; 

but he was ready to follow the man-of-all-work to 
the farm-house, where they got a basket of apples. 
While they were gone Uncle Charley gave Neil 
his first lesson in handling a gun. 

■" The first thing to be learned," said he, " is to 
stand properly. Plant both your feet naturally 
and firmly on the ground, so that the joints of 
your legs are neither stiff nor bent ; then lean the 
upper part of your body slightly forward. Grip 
the gunstock just behind the guard with the 
right hand, the forefinger lightly touching the 
foremost trigger, that is, the trigger of the right- 
hand barrel. The stock of the gun, a few inches 
in front of the guard, must rest easily in the hol- 
low of the left hand. Hold the muzzle of the gun 
up and slanting away from you, so that the lower 
end of the butt is just lower than your right elbow. 
Now, if both hammers have been cocked, and you 
gently and swiftly draw the butt of the gun up to 
and against the hollow of the right shoulder, you 
will find yourself in good position for taking aim, 
which is best done by keeping both eyes wide open, 
and looking straight over the rib between the bar- 
rels with the right eye." 

Neil took Uncle Charlev's gun, and began to 

* Copyright, 1883, by Maurice Thompson. 

6 4 6 



try to follow his instructions. " But how am I to 
tell when I am sighting with my right eye, if I keep 
both eyes open ? " inquired he. 

" Oh, you '11 soon discover that trick," said 
Uncle Charley, "by fixing your aim with both 
eyes open, and then, holding it perfectly steady, 
closing the left eye ; if the line of sight now 
changes, you have not sighted correctly ; if it 
remains fixed, the aim has been taken with the 
right eye." 

Neil tried it over and over with great care, 
until he was quite sure he had mastered the 
method. He was a cool-headed, methodical boy, 
not in the least nervous, and what he undertook 
he always tried to do well. 

"Be careful there!" cried Uncle Ckarley, as 
Neil lowered the gun to the ground, " never set 
your gun down with a hammer up. That is the 
cause of many deplorable accidents." 

" Oh, I forgot ! " said Neil, his face flushing. 

" You must never forget anything when you are 
handling fire-arms. To avoid accident you must 
be constantly on the alert and cautious, not over- 
looking even the slightest precaution." 

When Hugh and the man returned from the 
farm-house, the sun had sunk low down in the west, 
and the prairie-chickens were booming their pecul- 
iar calls far out on the rolling plain. 

" Hugh," said Uncle Charley, " I shall leave 
you and Mr. Hurd" (the man-of-all-work) "in 
charge of the camp, while Neil and I go for a short 
tramp among the chickens." 

Then he took his gun, and calling the dogs, 
started down the side of the little stream, closely 
followed by Neil. Hugh felt quite tired, so he 
lay down at the root of a tree and soon fell into a 
light, sweet sleep, while Mr. Hurd went about 
preparing the supper. 

When they had gone a little way from camp, 
Uncle Charley said to Neil : 

" Here, take my gun and let 's see if you can 
kill a prairie-chicken." 

Of course Neil was delighted. He took the gun, 
and eagerly followed the dogs, as they showed signs 
of scenting game down the stream. Very soon a 
large bird flew up from among some low willows 
and thick grass at the water's edge. As quickly 
as possible Neil took the best aim he could, and 
fired first the right barrel, then the left ; but the 
big bird flew on as though nothing had happened. 

Uncle Charley laughed heartily, and Neil 
looked rather stupid and abashed at his failure. 

"If you had killed that duck, you would have 
been liable to a fine," said Uncle Charley. 

"Why, was that a duck? I thought it was a 
grouse," exclaimed Neil. 

" Well, you 're saved this time," added Uncle 

Charley; "those cartridges you fired had no shot 
in them ! " 

" I thought something was wrong," said Neil, 
"for I aimed exactly at that bird." 

" Well, I '11 put some properly loaded cartridges 
in the gun now," said Uncle Charley, laughing 
grimly; "but you must n't fire at any bird but a 
prairie-chicken, because the law forbids it at this 

They went on, and the dogs soon pointed a 
flock of grouse in some low dry grass on a windy 
swell of the prairie. Neil had seven fair shots, 
and killed just one bird. He could not understand 
how this could happen. He tried very hard to aim 
just as he had been instructed, but he kept 
missing, nevertheless. 

When it had begun to grow dusky on the prai- 
rie, and they had turned toward the camp, Uncle 
Charley explained to Neil why he had missed so 
many birds. He said : 

" For one thing, you are in too great a hurry, 
and consequently shoot too soon. Then, too, you 
aim right at a flying bird, which is wrong, save 
when it flies directly away from you. It is abso- 
lutely necessary to aim somewhat ahead of the game 
when its course is to left or to right of your line 
of aim." 

Neil was thoughtful for a moment. "Ah, I 
see into the philosophy of it," he said; "you 
mean that the bird flies a little way while the shot 
are flying to it, and consequently, if I aim right at 
it, the shot will probably go behind it." 

"Precisely," said Uncle Charley. 

"Well, I '11 not forget that lesson," Neil mur- 
mured. " The bird that I killed was flying straight 
away from me." 

When they reached the camp, it was quite dark, 
save that Mr. Hurd had a fire blazing, which 
lighted up a large space. A pot of coffee was 
steaming on a bed of coals, and some birds were 
broiling, filling the air with a savory smell that 
made Neil very hungry. They were rather sur- 
prised to find a strange man sitting by the fire. 
He stood up when they approached, and then he 
and Uncle Charley hastened toward each other 
and shook hands. 

"Why, my old friend Marvin, how glad I am 
to see you ! " cried Uncle Charley. 

" Charley, my boy, how d' ye do ? " said Marvin. 

Chapter IV. 


HUGH had been quietly sleeping all this time 
at the root of the tree ; but when he heard 
Uncle Charley's voice, he awoke and sat up, rub- 


6 47 

bing his eyes with his fists. At first he could 
hardly remember where he was, and stared wildly 
about him ; everything looked- so strange in the 
glare of the firelight. 

" See what I brought down ! " cried Neil, go- 
ing up to his brother and holding out the prairie- 

Hugh's memory cleared as by magic, and in a 

moment he was 
wideawake. "Oh, 
did Uncle Char- 
ley let you shoot 
his gun ? " he 
inquired, his 
eyes growing 
bright at the 
" I should 


think he did," said Neil; ''have n't you heard 
me firing away? " 

" I believe I 've been asleep," said Hugh ; "but 
who is the gentleman Uncle Charley is talking 

"His name is John Marvin; they seem to be 
old friends ; Mr. Hurd says he 's a market-hunter." 

" What is a market-hunter? " asked Hugh. 

"A market-hunter is a man who kills game to 
sell. He makes his living by hunting," replied Neil. 

Supper was soon ready, and Marvin joined them 
in eating the well-cooked meal. It delighted the 
boys to hear him and Uncle Charley talk over 
their hunting adventures and their experiences by- 
flood and field, they had been to so many wild 
and interesting places, and had seen so many 
strange birds and animals. 

Mr. Marvin said he had been having good luck 
with prairie-chickens since the opening of the sea- 
son. Birds, he said, were far more plentiful than 
usual, and he hoped to make enough money, by 
the time cold weather came on, to enable him to 
go South, where he hoped to hunt throughout the 
coming winter. 

Mr. Marvin was a man of about fifty years of 
age, and had followed market-hunting all his life. 
He seemed to know everything that is worth 
knowing about guns and dogs and the habits 
of wild game. Uncle Charley evidently regarded 
this man's opinions as authority on outdoor sub- 
jects. In fact, Neil and Hugh soon discovered 
that Mr. Marvin was a very well-known and highly 
esteemed man among the best class of American 
sportsmen and naturalists. He was a regular agent 
of the Smithsonian Institute at Washington for 
collecting rare specimens of nests, 
eggs, birds, fishes, and animals. 

They all sat up quite far into the 
night, planning various little expedi- 
tions, and enjoying the cool breeze 
ar.d the fresh perfume of the prairie ; 
and when they lay down in their tents 
they slept until the eastern sky was 
growing bright with dawn. 

Marvin's tent was only a little way 
up the brook from those of Uncle 
Charley and the boys. Just after 
breakfast he hastened down to say 
- that he had seen a large flock of grouse 
alight in a field of oat-stubble on the 
neighboring farm. Uncle Charley 
made short work with the rest of his 
meal, slipped on his long rubber 
boots to protect his feet and legs from 
the heavy dew, called the dogs, seized 
his gun, and was off with Marvin be- 
fore the boys were half through break- 
fast. Not many minutes later the guns began to 

Neil and Hugh could easily distinguish the 
sound of Marvin's gun from that of Uncle Char- 
ley, for the reason that Marvin used a heavy ten- 
bore gun with five drams of powder and an ounce 
and a quarter of shot for a charge. 

Hugh said that gun sounded like a young cannon. 
As the sun rose higher and the grass began to 
dry, the boys went for a stroll along the brook. 
They found many beautiful wild flowers, the love- 
liest ones being large white water-lilies, with broad 
thin leaves floating on a still pond. While look- 
ing at these, they saw an old duck with her half- 
grown brood of young ones hastily swimming 
away to hide among the tall weeds on the farther 
side of the water. 




" I see now why the law forbids shooting ducks 
in summer," said Neil. "If one were to shoot 
that old duck now, the young ones would not know 
what to do ; they would probably wander about 
for a few days and die." 

The boys gathered some lilies and carried them 
back to the camp. Uncle Charley and Marvin 
returned about ten o'clock with a heavy load of 
birds. Marvin had killed twenty-three and Uncle 
Charley nine. 

" It 's no use for me to shoot with Marvin," said 
the latter, in a tone of good-natured chagrin ; "he 
always doubles my score." 

Through the middle of the day, while it was too 
hot to hunt, they all lay in the shade of the trees 
and talked, or read some books on natural history 
that Neil had brought from his father's library. 
Mr. Marvin took great pleasure in listening to 
Neil reading aloud from " Wilson's Ornithology." 
Occasionally, he would interrupt the reading to 
throw in some interesting reminiscence of his wild- 
wood rambles, or to make some shrewd comment 
on the naturalist's statements. Neil soon liked 
Mr. Marvin very much, and so did Hugh. In fact, 
he was so simple and straightforward and honest 
in his way, so frank-faced and clear-eyed, that one 
must like him and trust him. He told the boys a 
great many stories of his life in Southern Florida, 
with adventures that befell him while he was 
exploring the everglades and vast swamps of that 
wild region. He seemed a very encyclopedia of 
varied hunting experience. Almost any healthy 
boy will find such a man to be a charming com- 
panion ; and if the boy is desirous of obtaining 
knowledge, he can gather a great deal of it from 
listening to his conversation. 

Mr. Marvin soon discovered the great hope the 
boys had of one day being good shots, so he went 
to his tent and brought a little sixteen-bore gun 
that he used for killing snipe and woodcock and 
other small birds. He took out the cartridges, and 
handed the gun to Hugh. 

"Now,"' said he, "let me see how you would 
handle it if you were going to shoot a bird." 

Hugh seized the gun, much as a hungry boy 
would grab a cut of plum-pudding, jerked it up to 
his shoulder, shut one eye, — which got his face all 
in a funny twist, — opened his mouth sidewise, and 
pulled the trigger. They all laughed at him long 
and loudly. Uncle Charley declared that he would 
give a dollar for a correct photograph of that 

But Hugh was too much in earnest to be laughed 
down. He kept trying until he could get himself 
into passable form ; but it was plain to Uncle 
Charley that he would never be so cool and grace- 
ful as Neil. Hugh's enthusiasm counted for a 

great deal, however, and might carry him through 
some tight places where more deliberation and 
scrupulous care would fail. Mr. Marvin next put 
some unloaded cartridges in the gun, and allowed 
Hugh to fire at an apple that he flung into the air. 
When the cartridges exploded, Hugh winked his 
eyes and dodged. 

" Be perfectly cool and steady, "said Mr. Marvin; 
" you '11 get it all right presently." 

" Of course I will," exclaimed Hugh, his voice 
trembling with excitement and his eyes gleaming. 
"I'd have hit that apple if the shell had been 

" No, you 'd have over-shot it," said Mr. Mar- 
vin ; "you were too slow in pulling the trigger. 
The apple fell a foot between the time you shut your 
eyes and the time you fired." 

Hugh had a pretty hard time controlling his eyes; 
but he finally succeeded in keeping them open 
while firing, and then he began to show some 
steadiness and confidence. 

Mr. Marvin then explained that the first great 
rule in shooting at a moving object is to learn to 
look steadily at the point where you wish your shot 
to go ; and the second rule is to learn to level the gun 
at that point without any hesitation or "poking." 
You have no time for taking a deliberate aim at a 
swiftly moving bird, and to attempt such a thing 
will make of you what sportsmen call a "poke- 
shot," that is, one who squints, and aims, and pokes 
his gun along, trying to keep his fore-sight on 
the flying game. A really good shooter fixes his 
eyes on the spot to be covered by his aim, at the 
same time that he swiftly raises his gun and points 
it in the correct line, — his eyes, his arms, and his 
right forefinger all acting in perfect harmony- 
together. You observe that when a good mu- 
sician begins to play on the piano he does not 
fumble for the keys, but finds them as certainly 
and as naturally as he winks his eyes. So the 
shooter must not fumble for his aim, but get it by 
a swift, steady, sure movement that is only obtain- 
able by careful and intelligent practice. 

Mr. Marvin next put a loaded cartridge in the 
right-hand barrel of the gun and said : 

" Now, sir, you 're going to make your first 
shot, and I wish you to do it just as I have di- 
rected ; if you do, you '11 hit this apple ; if you 
don't, you '11 miss it. Ready, now, fire ! " and he 
flung the apple into the air. 

Hugh forgot everything in a second, raised his 
gun awkwardly, squinted one eye, and pulled trig- 
ger. The report of his shot rang out on the 
prairie, but the apple came down untouched. 

" Over-shot it," said Mr. Marvin, shaking his 
head. " You ' poked ' badly ; and such a squint ! " 

Hugh looked all over the apple, but he could 



6 49 

not find a scratch. " I '11 not miss it next time," 
he cried ; but he did. In fact, he shot seven times 
before he touched the apple. 

Mr. Marvin had to scold him several times 
about carelessly handling the gun. He once said: 

" Never allow the muzzle of your gun to point 
toward yourself or any one else, no matter whether 
it is loaded or not. If you are careless with an 
empty gun, you will be careless with a loaded one. " 


Then he added: " I once heard a backwoodsman 
say that his father proved to him that a gun was 
dangerous without lock, stock, or barrel." 

" How could that be ? " said Hugh. 

" Why. his father whipped him with the ram- 
rod ! " said Mr. Marvin. Hugh admitted that the 
proof was quite relevant, and promised to try to 
form a careful habit of handling guns. 

Chapter V. 

The prairie upon which our friends were en- 
camped was one of those beautiful rolling plains 

Vol. NT. — 42. 

for which Illinois is so justly famous. There were 
but few" inclosed farms in that immediate region, 
the greater portion of the land being still in its 
wild, grassy state, and used mostly for pasturing 
cattle that were attended by mounted herdsmen. 
Sometimes these herdsmen would get angry at the 
hunters for shooting near their cattle. This was 
not surprising, however, for the reports of the guns 
often so frightened a herd that each separate steer 
would take its own course, and 
run for a mile as fast as it could 
go, bellowing furiously. Men who 
know say that a run like that will 
take a dollar's worth of fat off each 
steer ; so we can not wonder that 
cattle-men should grumble at care- 
less sportsmen for causing them 
such loss. I-jut sometimes the 
chicken-shooters do worse harm 
than merely frightening the herds. 
If a bird happens to be flushed 
near a herd of cattle, a heedless 
hunter may shoot a steer instead 
of the game ; then, if the owner is 
near, he is ready to fight ; and you 
may well believe that a big brown- 
faced prairie herdsman is a dan- 
gerous fellow when angry. 

Mr. Marvin told of an adventure 
he once had with a cattle-owner. 
He said : 

" I was shooting on that beau- 
tiful little prairie in Indiana called 
Wea Plain ; and when quite near 
a drove of cattle I flushed a single 
chicken. I fired, and brought 
down the bird in good style ; but, 
as luck would have it, the rest of 
the shot went broadside into a fine 
fat steer that was grazing about 
fifty yards away. Such a bawling 
as that animal set up was terrible 
to hear, and the whole drove 
stampeded at once. Well, while I 
was standing there, gazing after the galloping cat- 
tle, suddenly ' bang ! bang ! ' went a gun not far 
away, and both of my fine dogs fell over dead. I 
turned quickly, and saw a furious herdsman sitting 
on his horse with a Winchester rifle smoking in his 

" ' Now you put on your best gait and walk 
a chalk-line from here ! ' cried the man. I began 
to try to explain, but he grew more and more 
angry, and said he did n't want to hear a word 
from me. I saw he was desperate and dangerous, 
so I made the best of a bad situation, and walked 




" There is a good lesson in my adventure," said 
Mr. Marvin, " and yoa boys must remember it. 
Never get so excited, in following game, as to for- 
get to be prudent and careful about the safety of 
others or their property. Of course the herdsman 
did wrong in killing my dogs ; but I did wrong, 
too, in the first place, by carelessly shooting 
toward his cattle. Suppose it had been a man or 
a boy I had hit, instead of a steer, — how miserable 
I would have been ! " 

The good advice of Mr. Marvin took hold of 
Hugh's conscience, and he inwardly declared that 
he would always be very careful what he did with 
a gun. 

The next day was Sunday, and they all rested 
and read, or strolled along the brook. 

Neil, while out by himself, was passing around 
the edge of what might be called a little oasis in 
the prairie, a low, swampy spot of ground grown 
up with a thicket of low willows and elbow brush, 
when he flushed a woodcock. At once he rightly 
suspected that quite a number of these exquisite 
game-birds had collected here to feed upon the 
insects and larvae which they could find by boring 
with their long bills in the mud. He kept his dis- 
covery to himself. 

Next morning he went early to Mr. Marvin's 
tent, and asked him for his little sixteen-bore 

"I wish to shoot some woodcock down here in 
a little thicket," he said, seeing that Mr. Marvin 

"Suppose I go with you, "suggested Mr. Marvin. 
"Are you very sure there are woodcock there? 
I looked at that place the other day and thought 
I 'd examine it again soon." 

"I should be delighted if you would go with 
me," quickly replied Neil ; " will your dogs point 
woodcock ? " 

" I should think so," said Mr. Marvin, " they 
know all about them ; but are you sure that any 
birds are there ? " 

" I flushed one there yesterday," Neil replied ; 
"and I saw many places where others had been 
boring in the mud." 

Mr. Marvin looked sharply at Neil, and said : 

" Where did you learn about the ways of wood- 
cock ? You never hunted any, did you ? " 

" I have read all the books on ornithology that 
I could obtain," replied Neil. 

Mr. Marvin was already getting the guns out, 
and selecting cartridges loaded with small shot. 

"Shooting woodcock is quick work," he said. 
" Almost every shot must be a snap-shot." 

" What is a snap-shot ? " asked Neil. 

" A shot which is made without any aim," an- 
swered Mr. Marvin. "When you are in the 

bushes and brush, and a bird flies up, jou must 
shoot in a great hurry, or it will get away." 

Uncle Charley and Hugh saw Mr. Marvin and 
Neil going off together across the prairie, and 
Hugh wondered how it chanced that Neil had 
thus gained the market-hunter's confidence. Neil 
was carrying the little sixteen-bore across his 
shoulder with much the air of an old sportsman, 
though it kept him almost on the run to keep up 
with Mr. Marvin, who strode along at a great 
pace, his head thrust forward, and his eyes fixed 
on the distant fringe of bushes that marked the 
woodcock swamp. 

The morning was cool and sweet, with a thin 
film of fleecy clouds across the sky. The grass 
was dewless, and a little cool wind blew from the 
south-west. In every direction the grouse were 
crying in their mournful, monotonous way. In. 
the east a great flare of red showed where the sun 
was just getting up behind the clouds. The dis- 
tant low hills of the prairie looked like ocean 
waves. Here and there the herds of cattle were 
scattered, some lying down and some grazing. 
Neil had never felt happier in his life. 

The thicket, or " cripple," as woodcock feeding- 
grounds are sometimes called, lay in a low place 
near the border of a thin wood, where the prairie 
began to break up into a hilly fringe of timbered 

Mr. Marvin held in the dogs until they reached 
the margin of the place ; then he loosed them, 
and bade them work. Those well-trained and 
intelligent animals were eager for sport, and at 
once began cautiously scenting along the border 
of the thicket. They were not the same kind of 
dogs as Uncle Charley's. They were small wiry 
pointers, with short hair and smooth, sharp tails. 
Their names were Snip and Sly, and they seemed 
never to get tired. 

" You 'd better call Snip and go to the left; 
1 '11 take Sly and go to the right," said Mr. 
Marvin. " We '11 be apt to find more in that, 

Snip seemed perfectly content with the arrange- 
ment. He went as Neil directed, after giving 
him a bright look, as if to say : " Ha ! you 're 
going to shoot my birds for me, are you ? " 

Mr. Marvin and Neil were soon lost from each 
other's sight. Neil went along very cautiously, 
watching every movement Snip made. In some- 
places the bushes and weeds were so tangled that 
it required a great deal of struggling to get through 
them. The ground was like jelly in certain spots, 
shaking and quivering under Neil's feet. Some- 
how, Snip passed by a woodcock without scenting 
it, and it flew up from a spot very near to Neil's 
feet. Whiz ! went its wings. Its rise was so sud- 



den and unexpected that Neil was really startled, 
and he stood gazing at the bird until it dropped 
again down into the cripple. He had entirely for- 
gotten to shoot at it ! 

The next moment Snip came to a stanch stand 
a little farther in the thicket. Neil drew a long 
breath to try to steady his nerves, held his gun 
in position, and walked slowly forward. Flip ! 
whiz ! Out of a tuft of tangled weeds rose a fine 
strong bird, its wings gleaming brightly, and its 
long bill thrust forward. Neil tried to keep cool 
and aim steadily ; but he was so eager to kill the 
game that he fumbled and poked with his gun 
before pulling trigger, and the bird escaped. 

Snip looked inquiringly at the young sportsman, 
as if at a loss to know what this slow business 
could mean. 

Neil heard Mr. Marvin fire several times. "That 
means game for the market-men," he said to him- 
self; " he does n't get excited." 

It required a great deal of tramping before Snip 
could find another woodcock. This time Neil 
behaved in a more sportsmanlike way ; but he 
missed the bird, nevertheless. He had shot so 
hurriedly, in order to hit the bird before it got into 
the bushes again, that his aim had been wrong. 

Bang! bang! he heard Mr. Marvin's gun again, 
some distance off. Just then he stumbled a little, 
and stepped upon a soft place, sinking instantly to 
his armpits in a slimy slush of mud and water. 
He seized a strong bush as he went down, and 
this was all that saved him, for his feet did not 
touch bottom. His gun had fallen across some 
tufts of aquatic weeds and grass, so that it did not 

" Ugh ! ugh ! " grunted Neil, as the ugly black 
mud oozed around him. 

Then he began to struggle, trying to get out. 
But the mud clung to him and he could gain no 
chance to use the strength of his arms. This 
frightened him, and he called Mr. Marvin in as 
loud a voice as he could command. There was 
no answer. He called again and again ; still no 
answer. The whole surrounding country had sud- 
denly grown as noiseless as midnight. Neil was 
a brave boy, but his heart sank as he thought of 
what might now befall him. The mud was cold, 
chilling him with its disgusting touch. He heard 
a herdsman singing far away on the prairie, and 
then the double report of a gun in the extreme 
distance. Had Mr. Marvin gone off after a flock 
of grouse ? The thought made Neil nearly des- 
perate. He struggled hard and long to draw him- 
self out, but to his dismay the bush to which he 
was clinging began to show signs of giving way. 
If it should break, he would disappear in the mud 
and never be seen again. 

He called Mr. Marvin again and again, in a 
high, clear voice. Bang ! bang ! sounded the gun 
once more, apparently a little nearer. Neil now- 
screamed and yelled desperately, for his arms were 
growing tired and weak. He thought of Hugh, 
and Uncle Charley, and his kind father at home. 
He looked at the gun, and it ff.shed into his head 
that his foolish desire to have a gun had been the 
cause of his dreadful misfortune. He wished he 
were at home. The tears were running down his 
cheeks, and he was quite pale. He kept up his 
doleful calling, but he was too weak to struggle 
any longer. Even the dog seemed to have de- 
serted him in his extreme danger. 

Chapter VI. 


SOON after Mr. Marvin and Neil had gone away 
toward the woodcock grounds, Uncle Charley took 
Hugh and went to look for grouse. Hugh carried 
Uncle Charley's small gun ; and as they walked 
along, watching the dogs circle about in search of 
the game, Uncle Charley explained the curious 
process by which the barrels of fine shot-guns are 
made. He said : 

" Those beautiful waved lines and curious flower- 
like figures that appear on the surface of the barrels 
are really the lines of welding, showing that two 
different metals, iron and steel, are intimately 
blended in making the finest and strongest barrels. 
The process of thus welding and blending steel 
and iron is a very interesting one. Flat bars, or 
ribbons, of steel and iron are alternately arranged 
together and then twisted into a cable. Several 
of these cables are then welded together, and 
shaped into a long, flat bar, which is next spirally 
coiled around a hollow cylinder, called a mandrel ; 
after which the edges of these spiral bars are 
heated and firmly welded. The spiral coil is now 
put upon what is called a welding mandrel, is 
again heated, and carefully hammered into the 
shape of a gun-barrel. Next comes the cold 
hammering, by which the pores of the metal 
are securely closed. The last, or finishing, oper- 
ation is to turn the barrel on a lathe to ex- 
actly its proper shape and size. By all the 
twistings and weldings and hammerings, the 
metals are so blended that the mass has some- 
what the consistency and toughness of woven steel 
and iron. A barrel thus made is very hard to 
burst. But the finishing of the inside of the barrel 
is an operation requiring very great care and skill. 
What is called a cylinder-bored barrel is where 
the bore or hole through the barrel is made of 
uniform size from end to end. A choke-bore is 




one that is a little smaller at the muzzle end than 
it is at the breech end. There are various ways 
of "choking" gun-barrels, but the object of all 
methods is to make the gun throw its shot close 
together with even and regular distribution and 
with great force. There are several kinds of 
metallic combinations that gunmakers use, the 
principal of which are called Damascus, Bernard, 
and laminated steel ; the Damascus barrels are 
generally considered the best." 

Hugh had listened very attentively to what 
Uncle Charley said, but he was also watching the 
dogs as they searched in every direction for grouse. 
In the midst of a slough, Belt came to a stand, 
but Don refused to back him. 

"There 's a prairie-chicken, sure ! " exclaimed 
Hugh, holding his gun ready. 

" I think not," said Uncle Charley; " for Belt 
acts as if he does n't feel interest in what he is 
doing, and Don, you see, refuses to back him." 

" 1 '11 walk up, anyhow," said Hugh ; " there 
may be a chicken." 

" Don't be in too great a hurry ; be deliberate, 
and, if a bird flies up, take good aim before you 
fire," said Uncle Charley. 

Hugh proceeded very cautiously through the 
high grass, keeping his eyes alert and his hands 
ready. Uncle Charley stood watching him. 
Belt turned his head to one side, and behaved 
rather sheepishly, as if ashamed of what he was 

Suddenly, with a sharp flapping of wings, a 
heavy bird rose from a tuft of water-grass and 
slowly flew along in a straight line away from 
Hugh. Here was the main chance for a good, 
easy shot, and the boy did not neglect his oppor- 
tunity. Up went his gun, a good steady aim was 
taken, and then the report rang out on the air. 
The big bird fell almost straight down. 

" Well done ! " cried Uncle Charley, laughing 
loudly, " well done ! " 

But Belt refused to retrieve. 

Hugh hurried to where his game had fallen, and 
picked it up. Uncle Charley kept on laughing. 

"Why, it's a thunder-pumper!" said Hugh, 
holding the bird high by its long, slim legs. " I 
was sure it was a chicken ! " 

" A great sportsman are you ! " cried Uncle 
Charley, "not able to know a bittern from a 
grouse ! Why, Belt knew better all the time ! " 

" Well, I hit it, all the same, anyhow," re- 
sponded Hugh. 

"That's nothing to boast of, I should say," 
remarked Uncle Charley; "do you know how 
many shot you let fly at that bird ? " 

"An ounce of number nines, I think," replied 

" But how many pellets are there in an ounce 
of number nine shot? " inquired Uncle Charley. 
" I don't know." said Hugh. 


"Well, there are five hundred and ninety-six." 

" So many ? " 

"Yes," said Uncle Charley, "you had five 
hundred and ninety-six chances to hit it." 

" I am sorry I killed it," said Hugh ; " but I 
thought it was a prairie-chicken. It is a very 
handsome bird ; is it of any value ? " 

"No," replied Uncle Charley; " but the Indians 
formerly hunted them for their mandibles, with 
which they used to point their arrows for killing 
small game. See how sharp they are ! I allowed 
you to shoot at it in order to teach you a lesson. 
First, whenever you see a dog acting as Belt did, 
you may be sure it is not pointing a game bird. 
Second, you ought to know as soon as a bird rises 
whether or not it is of a kind fit to kill. A true 
sportsman is always quick with his eyes, and never 
commits the mistake of shooting a thunder-pumper 
for a grouse ! " 

"How did I handle my gun ?" inquired Hugh, 
" did I seem to know how to shoot ? " 

" You hurried too much. The bird had n't gone 
twenty feet when you fired. You must remember 
to be deliberate and to keep your wits about you." 

They went on, and the dogs soon pointed a small 
flock of grouse in a field of weeds. The birds were 
in excellent condition, scarcely grown, and flew 
slowly ; but Hugh missed four before he killed one. 
He banged away at every wing he saw. Uncle 
Charley several times scolded him roundly for his 
careless shooting. He promised to be very cau- 
tious ; but he had not fired a half-dozen more 
shots before he hit. Belt in the ear with a pellet, 
making him howl at a terrible rate. 



" One more heedless action," cried Uncle Char- 
ley, " and I '11 take that gun from you and never 
allow you to touch it again ! 1 never saw any one 
so awkward. You act as if you had no eyes ! " 

Hugh felt greatly chagrined. The tears came 
into his eyes as Belt ran up, with his ear bleeding, 
to fondle about him. Of course the hurt was 
very slight, but Hugh's conscience told him that 
he had been foolishly careless, after all that had 
been said to him. He resolved in his heart never 
again to allow his eagerness and enthusiasm to 
drive away his prudence and caution. 

All the morning, as we have said, the sky had 
been overcast with a film of clouds. About ten 
o'clock, it began to drizzle, and so our hunters 
turned toward the camp. Uncle Charley had killed 
a dozen chickens and Hugh had killed one. They 
reached the tents just as the rain began to fall 

Mr. Marvin and Neil had not returned. 

"I think they '11 get a good old-fashioned 
wetting," said Hugh. 

"Are n't they coming yonder ? " Uncle Charley 
inquired, pointing at two dark spots far out on the 
prairie, barely discernible through the gray, 
slanting lines of rain. 

"I can't tell," said Hugh; "they are so far 
away and the air is so full of mist." 

Uncle Charley showed Hugh how to clean his 
gun inside and how to wipe it dry outside before 
putting it into its case. 

A good gun requires careful usage. Rust must 
never be allowed to appear anywhere about it, es- 
pecially on the inside. 

Chapter VII. 


When, at last, Mr. Marvin heard Neil's cries, 
he hastened to the spot whence they proceeded, 
and perceived at once that the lad was in a dan- 
gerous predicament. Picking up Neil's gun, he 
fired both barrels into the air, to provide against 
accident, as he wished to use the gun in getting 
Neil out of the mire. Treading carefully, he ex- 
tended the stock of the empty gun toward Neil, 
who clutched it with a strong grip the moment it 
came within his reach. And thus the boy was 
drawn slowly but surely out of the mud, and, at 
last, regained his footing upon firm ground. 

So the two dark forms, so indistinctly seen by 
Uncle Charley and Hugh, proved to be Mr. Marvin 
and Neil, though the latter looked more like a 
rough model in mud than like a real live boy. He 
was completely incrusted in the sticky, slimy muck 

of the marsh which, being very black, made his 
face look almost ghostly pale. 

" Why, what in the world is the matter, Neil ? " 
cried Hugh, as at last he recognized him. 

Neil laughed rather dolefully, glancing down 
over his unpleasant coat of mud-mail. 

" I fell into a quagmire up yonder. I think if I 
had let go I should have gone clear down to 
China ! " 

"The boy went swimming in a loblolly of 
prairie mud," said Mr. Marvin; " it made him very 
clean, you see." 

Neil was soon quite comfortable, and when din- 
ner was ready, he ate heartily, and enjoyed all the 
jokes the others turned upon his singular and 
dangerous adventure. But he could not help 
shuddering now and then as he thought of the des- 
perate situation from which Mr. Marvin had 
snatched him at the last moment. 

The rain continued all the rest of the day, com- 
ing steadily down in fine drops, making the prairie 
look sad and dreary enough. The dogs curled 
themselves up under a wagon, with their noses be- 
tween their feet, and slept, no doubt dreaming of 
grouse and woodcock. 

During the afternoon, the conversation turned to 
market-hunting, and Mr. Marvin told the boys 
many interesting facts about his business. 

"I do not shoot much game for the general 
market," he said. " Most of what I kill goes to 
wealthy individuals with whom I have contracts. By 
taking great care in packing and shipping my game, 
I have managed to get the confidence of some rich 
epicures and some private clubs in the cities of 
Chicago, Cincinnati, and New York, and they pay 
me nearly double what I could get in the general 
market. They usually allow me twenty-five cents 
each for prairie-chickens, twenty cents each for 
quails, and forty cents each for woodcock. So you 
see the eight woodcock I killed this morning will 
gain me three dollars and twenty cents. My em- 
ployers pay the express charges and often send me 
supplies of ammunition, so that my expenses are 
very light. I have made as much as fifteen dollars 
a day shooting geese at fifty cents each. Spring, 
summer, and autumn 1 spend in the North and 
West ; in winter I go south to Georgia and Florida, 
where I find the best of shooting. In North 
Georgia, for instance, there are many old planta- 
tions partly grown up in broom-sedge, the greatest 
covert for quail that I ever saw. In Florida I do 
not shoot much game, as it is hard to get ice with 
which to pack it, and the shipping facilities are not 
good ; but I kill herons and roseate spoonbills and 
ibises for their feathers, and I collect rare speci- 
mens for the Smithsonian Institute. You ought 
to see some of the curious bird's-nests I have sent 




to that institute. Herons' nests from the Okee- 
chobee region, cuckoos' nests from Georgia, rails' 
nests from the Kankakee, and nests of the Canada 
jay from the pine-woods of Canada. I have sold 
great numbers of eggs, too, to collectors and scien- 
tific men." 

" What a grand time you have had," exclaimed 
Hugh, " going from one fine hunting-ground to 
another, always escaping our cold, dreary winters, 
and always out in the free open air with your dogs 
and guns. How I should like to be a market- 
hunter! " 

" You'd soon become tired of it," replied Mr. 
Marvin ; " there are many disappointments and 
vexatious drawbacks connected with it. At some 
seasons, game of all kinds is scarce, and shooting 
becomes very dull work. I remember that several 
years ago I could hardly find chickens enough on 
the prairie for my own boiling. Of course, I like 
the business ; it just suits me ; but I do not advise 
any boy to think of trying it. With stringent game- 
laws and the growing opposition to free hunting 
by the landlords, the time is near when a market- 
hunter will have a poor chance for a living." 

" I am curious to know something more about 
woodcock-hunting," said Neil, whose disaster had 
only whetted his appetite for sport. 

" I hunted with an Englishman in Michigan, once, 
who put bells on his dogs when he went wood- 
cock-hunting," said Mr. Marvin. 

"Why? " queried Hugh. 

" Well, when the dogs got into thick covert, he 
could trace their course by the sound of the bells, 
and whenever the tinkling ceased, he knew they 
were pointing birds." 

" That was not a bad idea, " said Neil. 

" He was a jolly fellow, that Englishman," con- 
tinued Mr. Marvin; "he liked a droll joke even if 
it were against himself. He told me that one day he 
went out to a woodcock covert with a belled dog, 
and after following the sound back and forth and 
around and around in the tangled growth, suddenly 
the tinkling ceased. Very much pleased, he went 
to the spot expecting to flush a bird, but he could 
find neither his dog nor any woodcock. Long 
and patiently he tramped about the spot to no 
purpose. Then he called his dog ; it did not 
come. Here was a mystery. Could it be possible 
that his dog had fallen dead in some dense clump 
of the covert? He called until he was hoarse, and 
finally went back to camp tired and mystified. 
And there lay his dog at the tent door dozing, in 
the sun. It had lost the bell ! " 

" Where do you find the most profitable market- 
hunting?" inquired Uncle Charley. 

"When the full flight of geese and ducks is good, 
I get my best shooting in the Kankakee region of 

Indiana and Illinois," said Mr. Marvin ; "but tur- 
key-shooting in North Georgia used to be very 

" Have you never hunted large game, such as 
deer and bear ? " queried Hugh. 

" Not much ; it does not pay. I don't care for 
anything larger than a goose or a turkey. When 
it comes to real sport, quail-shooting is the very 
best of all," replied Mr. Marvin. 

" You are right," said Uncle Charley, " the 
quail is the noblest game-bird in America." 

"A thunder-pumper is not bad game when a 
fellow is keen for a shot," said Hugh, with a comical 
grimace. Uncle Charley laughed, thinking of how 
Hugh looked as he stood holding the bittern up 
after he had shot it. 

Neil and Mr. Marvin did not understand the 
joke, or they would have laughed, too. It was not 
fair to Neil, perhaps, to thus keep Hugh's mistake 
a secret after Neil's mishap had been so fully 
discussed, but Hugh was the younger, and Uncle 
Charley favored him on that account. 

When night came it was still raining steadily. 
Mr. Marvin remained talking with Uncle Char- 
ley and the boys until late bed-time. He told many 
of his strange adventures and described a number 
of pleasing incidents connected with his tramps by 
flood and field. It was especially interesting to 
hear him describe the habits of birds and animals 
as he had observed them. But Neil, whose prac- 
tical, philosophical turn of mind led him to desire 
information that would be of general benefit, asked 
many questions concerning practical gunnery. 

" Mr. Marvin," he said, "there is a proposition 
of natural philosophy laid down in my school-book 
which bothers me. The book states that a body, 
say a bullet for instance, thrown upward, will fall to 
the earth with the same force as that with which it 
started. Now, if this is true, why do we never hear 
of any one being hit with a falling bullet, and killed?" 

" Your school-book is mistaken, if that is what it 
says," replied Mr. Marvin. " A bullet shot from a 
rifle directly upward will start with a force suffi- 
cient to drive it through three or four inches of 
hard oak wood. It will fall with scarcely force 
enough to dint the same wood. I have, in shoot- 
ing vertically at wild pigeons flying over, had 
number eight shot fall on my head and shoulders 
without hurting me. The difficulty with the 
philosophical theory is that it does not consider 
correctly the resistance of the atmosphere and the 
comparative bulk and ' shape of falling bodies. 
Now, an arrow with a heavy point will come much 
nearer falling with its initial velocity than will a 
round bullet ; because the arrow, falling point 
downward, has all the weight of the shaft directly 
over the point, which makes it nearly the same as 



if it were a bullet of just the point's diameter, but 
weighing as much as the whole arrow." 

" I sec," said Neil; " I wish I could have stud- 
ied that out myself." 

'• Oh, I don't like investigations and study and 
all that," cried Hugh; " I like fun and adventure 
and the pleasant, merry things of life." 

" But the habit of investigation is most impor- 
tant," said Mr. Marvin, gravely; "it prevents ac- 

cident through ignorance and mistake, and it often 
leads to valuable discoveries. You will never be a 
successful man if you refuse to study and investi- 
gate. 1 should not wish to trust a boy alone with 
a gun, if he thought of nothing but fun and frolic. 
He 'd soon kill himself or some one else." 

After this, Mr. Marvin went away to his own tent, 
leaving the boys to think over and reflect upon 
what he had said. 




They all went down the garden-walk, And Grandma will be so surprised! 

And saw the flowers bloom. What can she say or do ? 

Each picked a bunch — a pretty She '11 give each girl and boy a 
bunch — kiss, 

To put in Grandma's room. And give the Baby two. 














































| Sagitt. 



Pisces , 




H. M. 
















Holidays and Incidents. 




12. 2 

12. 2 

12. 2 

12. 2 

12. 2 

12. 3 

12. 3 

12. 3 

12. 3 

12. 3 

Whitsunday. [Regulus 
(1st) Mars very close to 
C near Spica. Venus at 
[greatest brilliancy 
Jefferson Davis b. 1808. 
Patrick Henry d. 1 799. 
Robert Bruce d. 1329. 
Trinity Sunday. 
Charles Dickens d. 1870. 
Peter the Great b. 1672. 
Roger Bacon d. 1294. 
Charles Kingsley b. 1S19. 
Dr. Thos. Arnold d. 1S42. 

1st Sunday after Trinity. 
Edward I. of Eng. b 1239. 
Battleof Eunker Hill,1775. 
Battle of Waterloo, 1815. 
James VI. of Scotland b. 
Longest day. [1566. 

Capt. John Smith d. 1031. 
2d Sunday after Trinity. 

Midsummer Day. 
Bat.of Bannockburn.1314. 
George IV. of England d. 
C near Mars. [1830 

Queen Victoria cr. 1838. 
3d Sunday after Trinity. 
Sultan Mahmoud d. 1839 

' Children ! can you tell me why 
The Crab 's the sign for June ? " 

' Yes, we can sir ; he backward goes, 
And the days will shorten soon." 


By hook, and by crook, to bother the cook, 

The little boy catches some fish ; 
Then home with his brother, to show to his mother, 

U what better fun could he wish? 

Evening Skies for Young Astronomers. 

(See Introduction, page 255, St. Nicholas for January.)* 

Jlne 15th, 8.30 I'.M. 

Venus has lost but very little of that superlative brilliancy 
which it reached on the 4th, and is by far the most beautiful 
object in the sky. It will not be Evening Star much longer, 
for it will soon be lost in the rays of the sun. When it 
re-appears, it will be as Morning Star, and so remain till next 
May. It is now standing almost still among the stars and 
is exactly in line with Castor and Hollux, and Jupiter is only a 
little to the west. No picture in the heavens made by the stars 
only can exceed in beauty that now presented in the western 
sky, with the two most brilliant planets so close together, and 
Castor, Pollux, and Regulus to complete the scene. Mars, 
a comparatively insignificant object, has passed to the east of 
Regulus. Saturn we shall not see in the evening again till 
the end of the year. Arcturtis, far up, nearly overhead, is due 
south at thirty-three minutes past eight oclock. Spica has 
now passed nearly one hour to the west of our south mark. 
High up in the east is the brilliant Vega, the only noticeable 
star in the constellation Lyra or The Haip. Being so, the 
star is generally called Lyra. Between Arcturus and Lyra is 
the star Alphecca, the brightest in the constellation of the 
Northern Crown, which is formed of a lovely half-circle of 
stars. Capella is low down in the north-west. Rising in the 
south-east is Antares, in the constellation of Scorpio, Tlte 
Scorpion, one of the constellations of the Zodiac. 


" Everything was made for man, and all he has to do is to help himself," said a man lifting up the 
Hive, and grabbing at the Honey. 

" That 's true ! " buzzed the whole swarm, settling down upon him, and covering him from head to foot ; 
"we were just made for you, and as you have helped yourself to the Honey, we will make you a present of 
the Sting; " and so saying, the busy little Bees improved the shining hour. 

" Well, well," said the man, when he had at last made his escape, " I Ye always heard that stolen fruit is 
sweet; but I have found that there is more sting in it than honey." 

"The names of planets are printed in capitals, — tho^e of constellations in italics. 





For? Boys and Gii^ls. 



r^-jy^— ■^p^TTM 

'AW,/' . . <' *' -,■.■ ■■ 3*- 

w Km, M 


^^feliM^ ? 


" I 'VE COME with my roses," rippled Tune, with a voice like a brook murmuring over pebbles; " they 're 
going to be lovely this year, Mother. Blush Rose really deserves your praise, and little Wild Rose and 
Sweet Brier have made a special effort. I 've had a good long rest, and am ready to go to work again. 
Are the peas ready for shelling ? " 

" No, no, child," said Dame Nature, " you must not soil your hands with such work ; but go and take a 
look at them, and the strawberries, and see if the cherries are beginning to blush, and then get you to your 
roses. It takes a sharp eye to see the worms at their hearts, but you must not trust too much to appear- 
ances ; and give me all the smiles you can, my pretty one, to warm my old heart." 


By Mrs. M. F. Butts. 

Why have the bluebirds come 

With painted wings ? 
Why is the great earth full 

Of lovely things ? — 
Golden stars in the grass, 

Rosy blooms in the trees, — 
Wafts of scent and song 

Blown on every breeze ? 

Why ? Do vou hear afar 
The tread" of little feet 

Touching the golden stars, 
Crushing the clover sweet '! 

Do you hear soft voices sing : 
" We have thrown our books away 
Dear Earth, we come to you 
For rest and play ? " 

Well the good Earth knows 

"When school is out ; 
And so she molds the rose 

And brings the birds about. 
She spreads green boughs abroad 

To shade the way ; 
And makes her meadows meet 

For holiday. 

6 5 8 



aft A4 

&&VS " 



the dear Little School-ma'am, and myself. There- 
fore, I show you some extracts which the deacon 
has selected for you direct from the letters. 
Here they are : 


Orono, Maine. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: Our next-door neigh- 
bor has a black-and-tan dog that will be sixteen the loth 
of May. It weighs seven and a half pounds, and is blind 
at times. 

The owner has a daughter of the same age, and that 
is how they know the age of the dog so well. 
Of the other animals I know nothing. 

Yours trulv, Virginia M. Ring. 


Manchester, Vt. 
Dear Jack : In answer to your inquiries relative to 
the age of animals, I would say that we have a full-blood 
Scotch collie that will be seventeen (17) years old the 
coming June. I base my knowledge on my always hav- 
ing known him, and that our ages have always been 
called the same. I would add that Mr. Slap, as we 
call him, is hale and healthy. 

Truly yours, N. M. C. 

Here comes the summer, brimful of flowers and 
birds and child-folk ! And I never felt better in 
my life. What a world of joy it is ! 

Well, what shall we begin with this time ? 

I know. You all have slates, and slate-pencils ? 

You have. How pleasant it is to hear a hun- 
dred thousand youngsters reply so promptly ! 

And where did these slates and pencils come 
from ? 

You bought them, eh ? I do not doubt that. 
But where did they come from originally ? 

Oho ! Jack can not hear a hundred thousand 
clear voices this time. There is a mumbled con- 
fusion of sounds such as "don't know ; " " out of 
the ground; " ''slate; " "made out of clay; " 
" never heard any one say, sir ; " but no definite 
answer. Let your Jack hear from you by letter, 
one at a time, please. Any day that astonishing 
Little School-ma'am may ask us where slate- 
pencils come from, and we may as well all be 
ready with an answer. 

Now for 


You all may remember that your Jack asked in 
April if any of you ever had known of a dog over 
fourteen years of age, or of a horse older than 
thirty years, a mule older than fifty, or a sheep 
'past nine summers. The Little School-ma'am 
and I had been informed that these respective ages 
had sometimes been exceeded, but we were not sure 
of it, and so we asked for information based on per- 
sonal knowledge. The deacon, too, wished to get 
some definite facts on these points. 

Many replies have come, and your Jack hereby 
thanks the writers most truly. Apart from the 
kindness and painstaking they show, these letters 
have a practical value ; for they answer questions 
that are often asked by others besides the deacon, 


Providence, R. I. 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: Mr. Charles H. Colla- 
more, of Warren, R. I., many years ago possessed a 
small short-legged mongrel dog, white, with yellow 
spots, which went by the name of Squint. He had 
raised it from puppyhood ; in fact, it was born on his 
premises and died there. I remember to have seen it 
myself in its old age. When it died, the local paper 
deemed the event worthy to be celebrated in verse. The 
cause of its death was purely old age. 

I knew it to have been very, very old ; but was not 
sure of its exact age at the time of its decease. So, yes- 
terday I obtained from Mr. Collamore the necessary 
information : 

Squint died aged 16 years, 4 months, and 10 days. 
Yours truly, George L. Cooke, Jr. 


Providence, R. I. 

Dear Jack: In reply to your query in the April 
St. Nicholas, here is an instance that I can vouch for : 

The Rev. S. Brenton Shaw, 142 Broadway, of this 
city, has in his possession a brown Russian terrier 
19 years old. Mrs. Shaw chops his food, and in other 
ways provides for the animal's comfort. The dog suf- 
fers no inconvenience, apparently, from his extreme 
old age. Mrs. Shaw will not have the dog destroyed. 

S. F. Blandin, 
Office Chief Police, City Hall. 

P. S. — I take the licenses for dogs in the office of the 
Chief of Police. I will make some inquiries of dog 
owners, as they come for their licenses. I license be- 
tween three and four thousand. B. 


Washington, D. C. 
Dear Jack : Our next-door neighbor has a dog that 
was 18 years of age last August. There is no doubt about 
his age, because he was born in Mr. Morrison's own 



house. The name of the dog is Sport. Sport was 
shot once, and he carried the ball two years, when 
a gentleman lanced the place and took the ball out. 
There still remains a lump on Sport's side where the 
bullet went into his body, though it does not hurt 
him now. lie is a black-and-tan. All the spots that 
were tan-color are now gray, except the feet, and they 
are growing gray. Notwithstanding his great age, 
Sport is still quite active and playful. 

I have heard that General Washington's war-horse 
lived to the age of thirty-six years. When we were in 
Wisconsin, papa knew of two horses, one twenty-eight 
years of age and the other twenty-nine, whose owner 
occasionally drove them to Galena, 111., a distance of fifty 
miles, and returned the next day ; and he told papa that 
when he turned them loose into pasture, they would 
frolic like young colts. My great-grandmother had a 
horse that lived over thirty-five years. I am ten years 
old. Yours truly, Herbert V. Purman. 



Mr. JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT : We had an old family 
horse that my father had used twenty-eight years. 
The horse was five years old when purchased, in 1855. 
This animal died last August, aged thirty-three years 
and four months, to the regret and grief of us all, having 
been remarkable for his intelligence and speed up to the 
last few months of his existence. 

Alas, poor " Meteor," for he seemed like one of the 
family! How we missed his familiar neigh when we 
went in the stable ! Father had taught this horse to 
perform a splendid trick act — he would take a flag in 
his mouth and wave it and trot around waving it, then 
he would take a snap whip, and when father was run- 
ning from him, would try to whip him when he got 
within a few feet. Meteor would get down and pull 
father's boot off, as much as to say : " You can not go 
to bed with your boots on." Then the horse would lie 
perfectly still while the whip was snapped and switched 
violently over him, and not get up till he was told his 
oats were ready for him, when he would spring to his 
feet and shake his head up and down to express his sat- 
isfaction. Then he would stand on a box about a foot 
and a half high and turn around to the right and left, 
holding one foot up extended, and change his feet when he 
reversed the movement. He also would keep time to music. 

We drove him out every day for exercise, and he 
would trot real fast for a short distance and then sub- 
side into a walk. In conclusion, I would state that I 
have driven this horse since I was eight years old, being 
at times all alone in the carriage. J. T. 


Dear Jack-IN-the-Pulpit : My grandfather owned 
two horses, one of which lived to be thirty, the other 
thirty-three years of age. I also owned a cat which 
lived to the age of fourteen. Although I never heard of 
a dog as old as that, I thought that I would write and 
tell you what I know personally concerning " the ages 
of animals." Yours, Mary R. Church. 



Dear Jack : You ask, " Has any one ever heard of 
a horse older than thirty years ? " Yes, / have. We have 
a neighbor who owns a mare thirty-eight years old. 
Her name is Nelly. Only last summer she w r as seen to 

jump a three-rail fence, and seemed to enjoy her dust 
bath as much as her son Harry does. He is twenty- 
one, — just eight years older than I. The A/eorcs tenon 
Chronicle had a paragraph lately referring to old Nelly : 

Jonathan Pettit is the owner of a Mayday mare which has arrived 
at the respectable age of thirty-eight years, twenty-two of which 
have been spent while in his possession. Though not so spry as 
she used to be, the animal did plenty of good hard work only last 
summer, but is used now only as a carriage horse. 

T have heard that there is a white mule, now being 
taken care of at one of our army posts in Texas, which 
served through the Mexican War, and is now a pen- 
sioner of the U. S. Government. Is it true ? 

Faithfully yours, Jenny H. M. 


Near Bound Brook, N. J. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulitt: Seeing in the St. 
Nicholas that you wanted to hear about a horse over 
thirty, or a dog over fourteen, I will write you of both. 
We have here at our home a mare which is forty years 
old. She was bought when she was three years old, for 
my uncle to ride when he was a little boy. She has 
been in the family thirty-seven years. She is too old 
now to ride, but I drive her. I will be happy to show 
her to any one who would like to see her. My father 
owned a dog that lived to be fourteen. It was born in 
his printing-ink factory in 1S55 and died there in 1872. 
Your voung reader, George Mather. 


Newark, N. J. 
Dear Jack : The late Professor Mapes had on his 
farm, in New Jersey, a mule named Kitty, — a hardy, 
willing worker, — famous throughout the neighborhood 
for having gone beyond her fiftieth year, and for being 
quite able to compete with mules not half that age. Kitty 
Mule, as we called her, lived to be sixty-three years old, 
and she was in working order up to within one week of 
her death. Her history was well known. I saw her 
daily for twenty-seven years. P. T. Q. 


Newton, Iowa. 

Dear Jack : I can tell you about a horse that lived 
to be thirty-seven years old ! He was owned by a Mr. 
Steele, in Derby, Vt. When he was about thirty years 
old, Mr. Steele gave him to a gentleman in Barton, Vt., 
requiring him to sign a contract that he should be well 
kept and kindly cared for while he lived, and when he died 
should be well buried in a coffin made of two-inch pine 
plank. A few years after another friend of the fine old 
horse took him to Glover, Vt., to live with him, and, ac- 
cording to contract, took the best of care of him ; giving 
him hay-tea to drink and pudding and milk to eat. 

One dav he received a visit from another friend, who, 
thinking (perhaps) that a change of air would be pleas- 
ant for the old fellow, took him home with him to North- 
field, Vt., where he soon after died, aged thirtv-seven 
years, several months, and some days. His beautiful 
dark bay coat was taken off, made to look as natural as 
life, and placed in the Museum at the Capitol in Mont- 
pelier. He and all his family were noted for their 
beauty, lofty style, and great intelligence. My papa 
has owned several of them, and we have a picture of one. 

I have taken the St. Nicholas since I was ten years 
old, am now thirteen, and think, with St. Nicholas to 
read and a good horse to ride, a boy ought to be all right. 
Your friend, Fred K. Emerson. 





Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently 

be examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire tn favor the magazine with 

contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

Virginia. — Address Children's Aid Society, New York; New 
York Foundling Asylum, 68th Street; or New York Orphan Asy- 
lum, West 73d Street. 

Stony Ford, March, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: In the February number you spoke 
about Jack Frost being such a beautiful decorator. 1 saw the piece 
in the magazine, but did not feel so much interested at the time ; 
but one cold morning last week Jack Frost visited our dining-room 
windows, and painted lovely fern and oak leaves and a great many 
other funny but very pretty designs, but the funniest of them all 
was a little girl standing on what seemed to be a very high mountain, 
holding out her hands to an imaginary stove. I am not a very big 
girl, only just eleven years old, and I don't know very much about 
Jack Frost, still I think I can tell what makes frost on the window- 
panes. It is the moisture of the room within and the extreme cold 
outside. The cold draws the moisture on the window-panes and 
the cold air freezes it. I asked my grandma if she thought I could tell 
how Jack painted them any better, and she told me to get the ency- 
clopedia ; well, 1 did, and an awfully heavy book it is, too. I looked 
for frost, but the words were so big and long that I did not very 
well understand them, and I will have to ask some other little girl 
to explain it better. Your earnest little reader, 

Mabel G. A. 

Groveton, Texas, Feb. 5th, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am much interested- in the astronom- 
ical part of the "St. Nicholas Almanac." All through January 
we have been able to see the four planets, viz., Jupiter, Venus, 
Saturn, and Mars, as well as Sirius, and through the latter part of 
the month the comet and the new moon also. 

The stars shine very brightly here, much brighter than in my old 
Iowa home, and lately the heavens have been very beautiful. 

Your constant reader, Alice M. S. 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Although I have taken your valuable book 
six years. I have never thanked you for the pleasant hours you 
have afforded me, but I sincerely do now. 

My favorite author is Miss Alcott. 1 am greatly interested in the 
" Spinning- wheel Stories," and also in ' l Winter Fun." 

E. S. P. thinks he is too old to read St. Nicholas. It 's so natural 
for me to read it every month, I never thought to consider my ac,e 
(I was seventeen last December). My mother reads it every month, 
and enjoys it very much. 

I am studying stenography, and also taking piano lessons. 

Josih S. 

West Newton, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas : This is the first letter I have ever written 
to you, though I have been intending to for a long time. 

My father, who when he was a little boy used to live on a farm, 
often tells us stories, one of which I think will interest the readers of 
this magazine. They had an old cat with her kittens up in the 
loft, and one day a tom-cat came in and killed all but one of them. 
This one the old cat took out to the farm, where she hid it under the 
hay and fed it every day. None of the family knew where it was 
until one day, several 'months afterward, my grandfather, when he 
took off the hay to feed the cows, found it there. It was as large as 
a full-grown cat, but its eyes were not open and it could not walk. 
After a few days it opened its eyes and learned to walk, and became 
afterward a respectable old cat. Your constant reader, 

Elsie P. 

Newtown, 1SS4. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I will tell you about my kittens. I had 
three. I named them Prance, Fanny, and Blacky. One day a 
little girl came to see me, and we were sitting at the dinner-table, 
when we hesjd some one playing on the piano in another room. I 
went to the dooi and found Fanny sitting on the piano-stool, and 
putting her paw first on one key and then on another, and looking 
surprised at the sounds. Whenever my Mamma sat down to write, 

Prance would spring upon her shoulder, and jump down on the desk 
and sit on her paper; and when she was sewing, kittie would strike 
at her thread, and then lie down on her work. My cousin has a cat 
thirteen years old. He can open doors, and is very fond of sliding 
down hill. He slides alone, and when the sled is drawn up, he stands 
ready to get on for another slide, and is never tired of the sport. 

Jessie C. Drew, eight years old. 

203 Bristol Rd., Birmingham, England. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We have taken St. Nicholas for some 
time, and we all like it very much. I think the Spinning-wheel 
Stories by Miss Alcott are beautiful. Could you tell me how to make 
jumb'es '( I have read about them in " What Katy did at Home and 
at School " and other American books, and the children in them 
always seem so fond of them I was thirteen last August. I have 
a brother of fifteen, and two sisters aged eight and ten. 

I am yours truly, Alice Ireland. 

April, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My aunt has been giving you to me for 
four years, and I was delighted when you came again this year. 
You get better every year, and I don't know what I would do with- 
out you. " The Land of Fire " is splendid, and " The Origin of the 
Stars and Stripes " so interesting. Everybody ought to read it. 
Your constant reader, L. E. C. 

Fort Warren, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you how I am spending the 
summer. I have a little garden with four-o'clocks, lady-slippers, 
oxalises, geraniums, poppies, moming-glorys, gladioluses, petunias, 
and I have planted some mignonette, pansy, and some Joseph's coat 
that came from General Garfield's garden, and mamma says that when 
her fuchsia stops blooming she will give me a slip of it. I have no 
pets except my. little brother; he is four years old. I had two 
canaries ; but my aunt spent the spring with us, and when she went 
away I gave them to her. From one of your readers, 

Hattie I. W. 

Yonkers, April 10, 1884. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am eleven years old and am one of 
your readers. I like especially the serial stories of Tierra del Fuego, 
or " Land of Fire," and " Winter Fun." 

Have any of your readers ever seen an open bee's-nest ? I found 
one one day built of hay and sticks on a wood-pile ; the bees were 
very busy at a lump of honey in the center. I thought bees nested 
in the ground. Your faithful friend, Arthur Hyde. 

Arthur and other boys who are interested in bee's-nests will wel- 
come the paper entitled " Queer Game," in this number. 

The following letter from Dakota Territory will interest all our 
readers, we are sure. 

Blunt, Dakota, 1S83. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I thought you would like to hear from a 
little .girl out in Dakota, many miles from New York. 

My mamma is a widow, and has come out here and taken up two 
claims : one is a tree claim and the other is a homestead. They join 
each other. 

We intend to farm this summer, and have chickens, and set out 
apple-trees, peach-trees (which we are not sure will grow), plum- 
trees, cherry-trees, and all the different kinds of trees that will make 
an orchard. 

And we intend to raise small fruits, such as currants, raspberries, 
strawberries, gooseberries, and, too, we intend to raise grapes, and to 
have a small vegetable garden. 

Mamifta says she is not going to sow wheat and oats and plant corn, 
but rent 200 acres to a man and let him raise it on shares. 

I said above in this letter that mamma had taken up two claims; 
perhaps some of the readers of the St. Nicholas do not know what 


66 I 

"taking up claims" means, so " I will rise to explain," as they say 
in town-meeting. 

Well, in the first place, Dakota is a large Territory, and nearly all 
prairie land, and only a few years ago nobody lived here but wild, 
wild Indians, who made no use of the land, but lived by hunting. 

Uncle Sam saw what splendid land it was. "Too good to be 
wasted." he thought, and so he bought it of the Indians, and now 
we can buy it of him. 

Well, we buy of Uncle Sam a quarter of a section, or 160 acres 
of land, for o cents an acre. 

Eut we must make a promise to Uncle Sam that we will live on 
the land five years, and cultivate it. Then at the end of that lime we 
get a deed from him and the land is ours. This is a homestead. 

Now a tree claim is this: 

As this is prairie land and there are no trees growing here, so we 
buy another quarter section of Uncle Sam and plant 10 acres in 
trees. So when the trees are growing nicely, Uncle Sam gives us a 
deed for this land, and if we take up the two claims together (as 
mamma has done) it makes us a farm of 320 acres. 

I do not know whether this is a very nice letter or not ; but I am 
only ten years old, and never wrote for a paper before, and all I 
asked my mamma was how to spell the big words. 

With many kind wishes, dear St. Nicholas, I am yours truly. 

Bertha C. 

New York. 
Dear St. Nicholas: 1 read in a newspaper the other day this 
little story about a painter who died in London last year, and I think 
other boys might like to read it, too. The painter was named Cecil 
Lawson, and the paper said that at the age of four he copied in oil 
a picture by Clarkson Stanfield ; at six he began to paint the portrait 
of a lady who lived next door; at ten he was in a dame school, when, 
being one day reprimanded by the mistress, he left the school and 
returned with a canvas bigger than himself, and asked whether a 
boy who could paint like that did not deserve to be more respectfully 
treated. Yours truly, L, W. G. 

Englewood, N. J., January 28, 1884. 

My dear St. Nicholas: I read in the " Letter-box " this morn- 
ing about one of your readers having seen " A Ship in the Sun," so 
I thought I would write and tell you how I saw a pilot-boat in a 

We were oft" the banks of Newfoundland in a dense fog, and no 
pilot. About four o'clock we heard a noise that sounded like 
distant thunder. It went on so the captain had the ship directed 
toward the place where it seemed to come from. The sun had 
come up a few minutes before and formed a beautiful little rainbow 
on one side of the ship. Through this beautiful arch there sailed 
suddenly a tiim little pilot-boat with all sails set From it was sent 
a little row-boat with the pilot. After having taken him on board 
and after the row-boat had returned, the pilot-boat disappeared as 
magically as it had come, 

I have been taking you for about four years, and think you are 
the nicest magazine published. I am twelve years old, and at 
boarding-school. I am your true friend and constant reader, 

R. Bolles. 

Ol'R thanks are due to the following young friends, all of whose 
letters we would be glad to print if there were room: Maud 
E, Nellie Little, Josie Buchanan, Edward S. Oliver, Bessie Legg, 
Hattie C. F., C. R. Brink, Lena W. ( G. B. Rives, Gracie Whitney, 
Claire D., M. E., Mamie J. P., Clarice C, Evert F., A. Andrews, 
B. A. and B., E. S. D., L. H. Moses, Mary Bines, Walter M. 
Buckingham, E. C. Byam, John Foote, Mary Chamberlain, Daisie 
Vickers. Ruth W. Hall, E. S. B., G. E. D.. Maidee L. Roberts, 
Sarah FL, Florence M. L., H. L. Smith, Margaret W. Leighton, M. 
N., Mary Dogan, Nellie McCune, E. Carman, Hester M. F. 
Powell, E. M. Jr., Georgene Faulkner, F. C, Jessie Heely, May 
L. Goulding, Estelle Macpherson, Adelaide L. Gardiner, and 
Richard Wilson. 


The following Chapters have been admitted since our latest report : 

No. Name. No. of JIA 

601 West Point, Miss. (A).... 16. 

602 Guelph, Ont. (A) 22 

603 Chicago, 111. (U) 4 

604 Fredonia, N. Y. (A). . . . 6 

605 E. Orange, N. J. (B) 6 

606 Evansville, Md. (A) 5 

607 San Francisco (H). 6 

608 Los Gatos, Cal. (A) 4 

609 Brooklyn, N. Y. (H) 6 

610 Racine, Wis. (B) 5 

611 London, England (D) 5 

embers. A ddress. 

R. S. Cross. 

.Miss Daisy M. Dill, Box 213. 
.C. F. McLean, 3120 Calumet 

Mrs. Jennie N. Curtis. 
.Frank Chandler. 
.C. D. Gilchrist, 421 Chandler 

.R. Dutton, Cal. & Devisadero 

. E. L. Menefee. 
Philip Van Ingen, 122 Rem- 

sen St. 
Chas. S. Lewis, Racine, Coll. 
. R. T. Walker, 14 Queen's 

Gardens, W. 
.Edwin M. S. Houston. 
. S. G. Ayres. 

. R. S. Hart, 211 Presstman St. 
J. P. Cotton, 15 Park St. 
.A. L. Aiken. 
. R. C. Campbell. 
.Edgar M. Warner, Esq. 
James McMichael, 520 N. 

Twenty-first St. 
.G. C. Beebe. 
Horace C. Head. 
.William White (care On. Co. 


Peacock iron, and coal, Michigan coral and fossils. — E. D. Lowell, 
722 West Main St., Tackson, Mich. 

Correspondence with other Chapters. — F. L. Armstrong. Mead- 
villc, Pa. 

Silver, copper, lead, mica, and sea-urchins. — W. G. Curtis, Ab- 
ington, Mass. 

General exchanges.— Willie Clute, Sec. 514, Iowa City, Iowa. 

Eggs and skins of Colorado birds. (Eggs blown through small 
hole in side, and same sort wished.) — W. F. Strong, 804 Cal. St.. 
Denver, Colorado. 

Labeled Hemiptera and Coleoptera. (Write first.) — E. L. 
Stephan, Pine City, Minn. 

612 Urbana, Ohio (C) 13 

G13 Winooski, Vt. (A) 4 

614 Baltimore. Md. (H) 7 

615 Newport, R. I. (C) 5 

616 Norwich, Conn. (A) 15 

617 So. W'mstown, Mass. (A). 27 

618 Central Village, Ct. (A)... 20 

619 Phila., Pa. (T) 5 

620 Manlius, N. Y. (A) 4 

621 Garden Grove, Cal. (A) ... 4 

622 Utica, N. Y. (B) 5 

Eggs. — Frank Burrill, Lisbon, Me. 

Bird's-eggs, and skins, and fossils. — F. H. Wentworth, 123 
Twenty-fifth St., Chicago, 111. 

Fine specimens of Manganese. — Caroline S. Roberts, Sec. 522, 
Sharon, Conn. 

Labeled fossils, shells, and minerals : and correspondence in South 
and West. — E. P. Boynton, 3d Ave. and 5th St.. Cedar Rapids, Iowa. 

Mounted Canadian insects (labeled), for rare minerals. — Sharlie 
Hague, 172 E. 87th St., New-York, N. Y. 

Correspondence with any one that has a botanical garden. — Miss 
Jessie E. Jenks, Oneonta, N. Y. 

Berries of Abies precatorius (the standard weight of Hindoo 
goldsmiths), for cocoons or butterflies. — Miss Isabelle McFarland, 
Sec. 448, 1727 F St., Washington, D. C. 

17-year locusts of 1S70, for large Trilobites. L'evonian fossils. — 
C. R. Eastman, Cedar Rapids, Iowa. 

Pressed plants for a hang-bird's nest and eggs. — Stella B. Hills, 
Sheboygan Falls, Wisconsin. 

Correspondence. — T. F. McNair, Hazelton, Pa. 


1. What is the food of a prairie-dog? 2. What woods are least 
liable to rot? 3. What is a cidaris? 4. Is a knowledge of the 
classics necessary to a scientific education? [Not "necessary," 
but highly helpful and desirable.] 5. Why is mold on the same 
substance of various colors? 6. Can you give the address of a 
specialist on fish? [We can not, but should be very grateful if 
such a person would volunteer his assistance hi answering our 
young friends. ] 


I will gladly answer any member of the A. A. who may wish to 
know the publisher, price, etc., of any book or pamphlet, if he will 
enclose a stamp. — T. Mills Clark, 117 E. 17th St., New York, N. Y. 

In answer to the question, "Do ants live all winter?" — Yes. 
Last Friday, while skating. I found a sheep's skull. I brought it 
home and put a glass tube near it. About 27 ants crawled into the 
tube. — L. G. Westgate. [Sir John Lubbock kept two ant queens 
alive for more than 7 years.] 

Pebbles are formed by the violent washing of small fragments of 
rock, broken and carried along the bed of a stream. — J. K. Graybill. 

In answer to A. S. G.: The name "sea-bean" is incorrect, but 
was given to the large brown beans that are often polished and sold 
as ornaments, because they are often found on the sea-shore. The 
real name of this plant is the Scimitar pod, or " Entada scandens." 




It is a member of the Leguminosa?, or bean family, and grows in 
India and South America. It is a strong climber. Its large fiat 
pods are hard and woody in structure, and are from four to six, or 
even eight feet, in length. These are often curved so as to resemble 
a scimitar. The beans sometimes fall into the sea, and have been 
carried by the Gulf Stream as far as the coast of Scotland, where 
they have been known to germinate. — Hiram H. Bice. 

Many sea-beans come ashore at Galveston. The tide before full 
moon brings them in greatest abundance. I have gathered as many 
as 300 good ones in a walk of 5 miles. I think there are 6 or 8 
kinds. Two kinds, I know, grow on vines. The largest are four 
inches in diameter, half an inch thick, and very dark brown. I 
planted 6 of them at high-tide mark. All grew, and in less than 4 
weeks had run 30 feet, all the vines running toward the west. The 
leaves were from 2 to 4 inches long, and half an inch wide, and more 
than an eighth of an inch thick. They were very dark green on the 
upper side and light on the under side. Edges of leaves smooth. 
I have planted other kinds, but they do not grow so well. - None of 
them grow in the sea. Possibly, however, the little black-eyed 
scarlet peas do. — J. G. S., care Box 121, Tyler, Texas. 


89. Coal. — I have had an opportunity of going into the largest 
coalmine in Des Moines. Above the vein of coal is a black, soft, 
crumbling shale, of a very thtn laminate structure. _ Fossils are 
sometimes found in this. The coal is traversed by thin veins of a 
grayish rock, dense and heavy ; between the veins of coal are 
layers of fire-clay, gray in color, and greasy. In this clay is 
found a fossil plant, called Lepidodendron. This was a reed, 
with a soft pith and a hard and much-scarred bark. It was one of 
the coal-forming plants, and is often found near coal. Iron pyrites 
of beautiful golden color, and small globules of sulphur, occur in 
veins. But the most beautiful thing found in the mine is the salt- 
petre. This is found in needle-like crystals, transparent, of a light- 
green color, and decidedly resembling moss. The logs used as 
props are covered with two sorts of fungi. One is that beautiful little 
fungus with slender black stem and white creased head, called Mar- 
asmus, the other is like the common fungus that grows on old 
stumps. Both kinds are pure white when they grow underground. 
As I was labeling my fossils, a gentleman who has taught in a college 
for fifteen years told me I was all wrong, and that plants never had 
anything to do with the formation of coal. What do you think of 
that? — A Friend. 

[We think he was mistaken.] 

00. Spring-beetle. — We put a Spring-beetle, or Plater, into our 
poison jar, and left it there for three days. After it had been out a 
week, it began to show signs of life, and finally quite revived. The 
jar had been freshly made, and everything else that was put into it 
died instantly. — Laurena Streit, Ch. 434. 

91. Pyxis. — In the 33d report, A. A., Jan., 1S84, I find in Prof. 
Jones's schedule the pyxis classed with uidehiscent fruits. Is it not 
a mistake? Was not the peculiar manner of opening, resembling 
the lid of a box, the reason for its name? — Anna L. J. Arnold. 
Prin. High School, Urbana, O. 

[It was a mistake, as was also the printing of Figure's Insect 
World, for Figuicr s Insect World, in last number.] 

92. Wheel-bug. — Alonzo Stewart has been studying the so- 
called " Nine-pronged wheel-bug." He has found specimens with 
as many as 12 prongs. This bug is very destructive to other insects. 
which it kills with its beak, through which is emitted a poisonous 
fluid. One that he kept from Aug. nth to 27th ate, among other 
things, a Telia Polyphemus, a poi- 
sonous spider, and some katydids, 
and it ate from 5 to 10 caterpillars an 
hour. — R. P. Bigelow, Sec. 109. 

[We would like to hear more of 
this curious bug ; what is its Latin 

93. Seals. — Seals are able to 
close their nostrils, and can remain 
under water 25 minutes. 

94. Promethea. — I have found 
7 Promethea cocoons on a small 
wild cherry-tree. — F. P. Poster, 
Sec. 440. 

95. Woods. — I should like to 
mention my way of preparing 
woods for the cabinet. Cut pieces 
from a log, so that the bark shall 
form a back like the back of a book. 
They should be 5 inches in height, 4 in width, and one and a half in 
thickness. The wood may then be finished in oil or varnish. On the 
back, about two inches from the top, cut away the bark between par- 
allel incisions, and glue a piece of paper across on which to write the 
label. So prepared, they present a very handsome appearance on 
the shelf. The accompanying sketch may make it clearer. — Myron 
E. Baker. 

96. Parasites. — On a liriodendron (tulip) tree, I found about 
30 Promethea cocoons, one of which, as it would not rattle, I 



opened, and within I found, closely packed, 7 small, white, soft 
bodies. They look like larvae of some sort, but I can not recognize 
them.— G. C. McKee. 

[Perhaps some of our friends will 
help us name these strange in- 
truders ? Meanwhile, you should 
watch them carefully, make notes 
on their growth, etc., and report 
later. ] 

97. Will some one give me particulais about the fossil 
sketched?— W. D. Grier. 

Rei-orts from Chapters. 

535. Chapel Hill, N. C. — I send you the dates at which some 
of our more common flowers bloom : White violets, Feb. 16 ; Blue 
violets, all winter; Hyacinths, Jan. 28; Crocus, Jan. 30; Honey- 
suckle, Feb. S ; White spirea, Feb. 28 ; Houstonia, Feb. 3 ; Daisies, 
Feb. 29; Butter and eggs, March 1; Cherry-tree, Feb. 20.— Clara 
J. Martin. 

264. Gainesville, Fla. — This Chapter has disbanded, as its secre- 
tary is dead. Paul E. Rollins was a private in the Gainesville 
Guards, and on his death, at a special meeting, a series of resolutions 
was passed, of which the following is one: "His upright and 
noble life endeared him to us all, and should be a standard for our 

Query. — I am a subscriber to St. Nicholas, and notice in the 
April No. a note, No. 85, that H. A. Cooke, with others, has de- 
cided that the rings of a tree do not indicate the years it has lived, 
"but the number of stoppages in its growth." Having a personal 
interest in the matter, I would be much indebted to him for the in- 
formation how many such "stoppages " can occur in a year, and 
the causes of them. — Respectfully yours, Jno. M. Hamilton. 

548. Cranjord, N. J. — In answer to a March question, the 
richer the soil is made, the darker the color of flowers will be. 
Charcoal, indigo and ammonia, put around the roots of plants make 
the flowers change color, and copperas brightens them.— L, M. 

258. Reading, Pa. — We have a man here in town that we are 
very proud of. His name is Herman Strecker. He works in a 
marble-yard all day, and at night studies for many hours. He has 
the largest collection of butterflies in the U. S., and the second 
largest in the world. I think it numbers 75,000. — Helen Baer. 

1 have decided not only to take notes of what I see, but also to 
make pencil sketches, fir I find that when you try to draw an 
object, you are forced to observe numerous little points of structure 
and form that would totally escape your notice otherwise. — W. E. 
Mc Henry. 

187. Mr. Lintner, the State entomologist, has been very kind to 
us, and has given us a copy of his first annual report. We have a 
MS. paper, The Naturalist, to which all are supposed to contrib- 
ute. Our president and secretary form a " literary committee," and 
decide upon a programme for each meeting, and edit the paper. Each 
member keeps a note-book, and the reading of these forms an im- 
portant part of our meetings. Also, at each meeting, each member 
brings two questions, written on a slip of paper, and hands them to 
his right-hand neighbor, whose duty it is to answer them the next 
week. — John P. Gavit, Albany, N. Y. (A). 

381. New Orleans. — Though a small Chapter, we are one of the 
many whose interest has never flagged. We have built a cabinet, 
and will have to build another, as this is full. — P. Benedict 

511. Our Chapter now has 12 members, and we h2ve about 200 
specimens of insects. — Kitty C. Roberts, Blackwater, Fla. 

478. Comsiocks, N. Y. — Our Chapter is progressing fairly. Our 
secretary attempted to slufT a red squirrel the other day. from 
memory of what be had read on the subject. When it w r as done, it 
looked as if it had been struck by lightning, but it was stuffed just 
the same. — G. C. Baker. 

iT2. Boston, Mass. — We gave an entertainment and exhibition 
of our minerals, and although it was a very rainy evening, we had 
a fair audience, and made $6.90. We anticipate great pleasure 
from the numerous field meetings we are planning. — Annie S. Mc- 

Bird' s-eggs identified. — I shall be happy to identify bird's-eggs 
for members of the A. A., if sent to me. — D. C. Eaton, Wobum, 
Mass., Box 1255. 

The reports from our Chapters have been continually increasing in 
interest, and we wish to express our thanks to the faithful secretaries. 
We must hint to them, however, that they try to condense their 
monthly letters a little more. Please don't use two words if one will 
serve the purpose Take these printed reports as models. But 
once a year we desire a long, and detailed report from each Chapter. 
This should be written as carefully as possible, and sent on or near 
the anniversary of the Chapter's organization. Remember to put 
the number of your Chapter at the head of the first page, and 
always give address in full. Address all communications, except 
questions about specimens, to the President. 

Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, 
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 


66 3 


central letters, reading down- 
ward, will spell the name of a 
member of parliament, to whom 
Nicholas Nickleby applies for 
a situation as private secretary. 
Cross-words: i. The sur- 
name of a good-natured black- 
smith, who is married to a ter- 
magant. 2. The surname of a 
bright young man who boards 
with Mr. Pocket. 3. The sur- 
name of the proprietor of Doth- 
eboy's Hall. 4. The surname 
of a retired banker, who prides 
himself on being a practical 
man. 5. The surname of a 
pompous, self-satisfied man, 
who alludes to his daughter 
Georgiana as " the young per- 
son." 6. The Christian name 
of a great friend of Philip Pirrip. 
7. The surname of a footman in 
the service of Angelo Cyrus 
Bantam, Esq. 8. The surname 
of a member of Mr. Crummies' s 
dramatic company. 9. The 
surname of a neighbor of Mrs. 
Copperfield. MYRICK R. 


This differs from the ordinary numerical enigma in that the 
words forming it are pictured instead of described. The answer is a 
quotation from the play of " Coriolanus." The letters of the mono- 
gram in the upper right-hand corner spell the name of an actor 
who is very popular in the character of " Coriolanus." 


My first is in German, but not in waltz ; 

My second in errors, but not in faults; 

My third is in trappings, but not in gear ; 

My fourth is in landing, but not in pier; 

My fifth is in orange, but not in pear; 

My sixth is in labor, but not in care; 

My seventh in salmon, but not in smelts ; 

My whole is in Venice, and nowhere else. 

MAY L. F. 


Each of the names alluded to contains seven letters, and all may 
be found in the works of Charles Dickens. When these are rightly 
guessed and placed one below another, in the order here given, the 

In the following sentences 
are concealed words which may 
replace the dots in the above 
diagram. When rightly select- 
ed, the lines will read the same 
across as up and down. 

1. When we reached Aleppo, 
Tom acquainted me with the real facts of the case. 2. 
hope Rasselas will prove more entertaining than 
Vathek. 3. I wish you would invite Nettie to spend 
the day with us. 4. I told Clara to rest while we pre- 
pared the luncheon. 5. If ma told you to, do it at once. 
Laura said she would do it for me. 7. Then let us 
run across the lawn. Alma. 


1, Behead to pull away by force, and leave repose, r. 
Behead to hang about, and leave above. 3. Behead fanciful and 
leave to distribute. 4. Behead to agree, and leave a confederate. 5. 
Behead a fish, and leave to put to flight. 6. Behead angry, and leave 
to estimate. 7. Behead flushed with success, and leave behind time. 
S. Behead a wanderer, and leave above. 

The beheaded letters will spell the name of a poet. F. M. x. 


Take a certain word from each proverb. When the selections have 
been rightly made, and the words placed one below another in the 
order here given, the initial letters will spell the name of a place 
famous in American history. 

" As busy as a bee." 

" As ugly as a hedge fence." 

" As nimble as a cow in a cage." 

"As knowing as an owl." 

5. "As full as an egg is of meat." 

6. "As virtue is its own reward, so vice is its own punishment." 
' As busy as a hen with one chicken." 
' As brisk as a bee in a tar-pot." 
' As lively as a cricket." 
'As love thinks no evil, so envy speaks no good." 






When the figures in each picture have been translated into 
letters they will spell the word necessary to answer the question for 
the picture. Example : Picture No. i. What are these men fish- 
ing for? Answer: Cod. (C, ioo; o; d, 500.) 2. What does 

this lamp contain ? 

3. What is the lit- 

that I must mend. 4. From such a malignant fever, few, if any, 
recover. 5. " Do tell me another story about that sly old fox," a 
listening child said. 6. in hunting the opossum, a child was the 
first to spy it. 7. " See what that child has done with his treacle ma; 
'tis all over his apron." 8. Let us each buy some of those delicious 
sweet pears at the fruiterer's. Florence and her Cousin. 


primals and finals spell the name of a famous English come- 
dian, who was born and who died 
on June 28th. 

Cross-words (o{ equal length) : 
2. A volcanic 
mountain of Ice- 
land. 3. To dis- 

tle girl cry- 
ing for? 4. 
What does 
this kettle 
need ? 5. 
Where is 
this horse 
going ? 6. 
What is the 
man about 
to do with 
the rope ? 
7. What 
does this, 
musician want ? 



Centrals, reading downward, spell the name of a restorer. 
Cross-words : 1. To destroy. 2. Compact 3. A small fruit. 
1. Bring me a hammer or chisel, Ellen. 2. When put in the sun 4. In anemone. 5. The nickname of a President of the United 
flowering plants generally do well. 3. See the tear, O see the tear States. 6. To direct. 7. Very wise. Charlotte. 


Transformation Puzzle. Primals, Decorations; finals, Mem- 
orial Day. Cross-words: 1. pray, DraM. 2. task, EasE. 3. 
fall, CalM. 4. slip, OliO. 5. peat, ReaR. 6. Emma, Amml. 7. 
dogs, TogA. 8. odor, IdoL. 9. ibex, ObeD. 10. sort, NorA. 
11. glad, SlaY. 

Framed Word-square. From 1 to 2, Logwood; from 3 to 4, 
Monitor; from 5 to 6, "Portion; from 7 to S, Horizon. Included 
word-square: 1. Red. 2 Eve. 3. Den. 

Double Diagonals. From left to right, Jasmine : from right to 
left, Diamond. Cross-words : 1. JointeD. 2. pAciflc. 3. paSs- 
Age. 4. comMand. 5. prOvIde. 6. eNsigNs. 7. DisputE. 

Cremation-Charade. Carbon-dale. 

Beheadings. Abraham Lincoln. Cross-words: 1. A-jar. 2. 
B-and. 3. R-end. 4. A-rid. 5. H-our. 6. A- men. 7. M-oat. 
8. L-ark. 9. I-bid. 10. N-ail. 11. C-owl. 12. O-men. 13. 
L-ear. 14. N-eat. 

Numerical Enigma : 

Among the changing months May stands confessed 
The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed. 

Word-square, i. Uranus. 2. Recent. 3. Accuse. 4. Neuter. 

Primals, Russia; finals, Odessa. Cross- 
•. UniteD. 3. SalutE. 4. SerieS. 5. 

Double Acrostic 
words: 1. RanchO. 
IssueS. 6. AlaskA. 
Decoration Dav Rebus. 

" Brave minds, howe'er at war, are secret friends, 
Their generous discord with the battle ends; 
In peace they wonder whence dissension rose, 
And ask how souls so like could e'er be foes." 

Prospect of Peace, by Ticknell. 
Andrew's Cross of Diamonds. I.: 1. C. 2. Vat. 3 
4. Calomel. 5. Temen. 6. Ten. 7. L. II.: 1. L. 2 
3. Braid. 4. Learned. 5. Tinny. 6. Dey. 7. D. III. 

1. L. 
D. IV. 
Die. 7 

Nit. 3. 

1. L. 

D. V.: 

6. Do 

Sat. 3. 
. D. 2 


Likened. 5. Tense. 6. Dee. 
Synod. 4. Languid. ?. Touse. 
Era. 3. Eland. 4. Dragoon. 


Zigzag. Brooklyn Bridge. Cross-words: 1. tuB. 
Owl. 4. bOy. 5. arK. 6. oLd. 7. Yes. 8. oNe. 9. huB. 
10. iRe. 11. Ice. 12. aDd. 13. biG. 14. eEl. 

May Diagonal. May-day. Cross-words: 1. Months. 2. tAr- 
box, 3. crYing. 4. maiDen. 5. ashmAn. 6. SundaY. 

la and Cora Wehl, Frank- 

5. Unseen. 6. Sterne. 

Answers to March Puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the May number, from ] 
fort, Germany, 6 — Lily and Agnes Harburg, France, 10. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from B. P. B. and Co. — S. R. T. — 
"Three Units" — Arthur Gride — H. and Co. — Katie L. Robertson — Madeline Vultee — "Two Stones" — Fannie, Carrie, and Saidie 

— Maggie T. Turrill — Hattie, Clara, and Mamma — Zealous — Hyslop — Charles Haynes Kyte — Wm. H. Clark — Daisy, Pansy, and 
Sweet William — Shumway Hen and Chickens — Kina — Francis W. Islip — Hugh and Cis — M. W. Hickok — E. Muriel Grundy. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from Frank Hoyt, 1 — Harry J. Lynch, 1 — L. O. 
Gregg, 1 — Willie D. Grier, 1 — Minnie E. Patterson, i — Mary Chamberlin, 1 — Cousin Mamie, 2 — Julia Hayden Richardson, 2 — 
Walter Lindsay, 1 — Laura G. and Lilian, 1 — Paul Resse, 11 — Viola Percy Conklin, 3 — Susan Pottles and Zenobia Higgins, 4 — 
Jessie E. Jenks, 2 — F. and H. A. Davis, 11 — Chas. Crane, 1 — K. L. M., 3 — Julian A. Keeler, 2 — Eva Halle, 4 — "Pepper and 
Maria," 10 — Mabel Vida Budd, 4 — Mary Ashbrook, 1 — Fred S. Kersey, 1 — Jennie Balch, 4 — " Sinbad the Sailor," 6 — Gracie Smith, 
6— Ettie E. Southwell, 2 — R. K. Miller, 2 — Emma M. L. Tillon, 2— F. Sweet, 1 — "Flip," 1 — Mabel Palmer, 1 — E. Cora Deemer, 
3 — E. Gertrude Cosgrave, 11 — Leon Robbins, 1 — Grace Zublin, 1 — Clara Powers, 1 — Alfred Mudge, 1 — Edith and Lawrence Butler, 

I — Natalie Sawyier, 5 — Dickie Welles, 1 — Cooper, Charley and Laura, 7 — James M. Barr, 2 — "Fin I. S.," 8 — Ruth and Sam 
Camp, 8 — Alfred Hayes, Jr., 1 — Marian C. Hatch, 3 — Alan M. Cohen, 1 — Van L. Wills, 1 — Jessie and Madge Hope. 1 — Effie K. Tall- 
boys, 7 — "Rex Ford," 6 — "Worcester Square," 1 — Mary A. and Helen R. Granger, 1 — Helen W. Gardner, 1 — Mamie H. Hand, 4 

— Hessie D. Boylston, 2 — Alice F. Wann, 1 — Susie May Lum, 1 — Alfred Hayes, Jr., 1 — Anna Schwartz. 1 — No Name, New York, 

II — Bertha Feldwish, q — Hattie E. Bacon, 1 — Arthur Hyde, 3 — Albert Lightfoot, 4 — Edith Moss, 1 — C. H. Aldrich, 10 — Mamie W. 
Aldrich. 2 — Irma and Mamie, 3 — Eleanor, Maude, and Louise Peart, 3 — Alex. Laidlaw, 7 — " The Newsome Family," 5 — Angela V., 
1 — Unknown, 5 — William H. Clark, 11 — Julie and Tessie Gutman, 1 — Edward Livingston Hunt, 2 — Jennie and Birdie. 5 — Mary 
Mayo, 1 — George Habenicht, 1 — E. D. and S. S., 5 — Janet Burns, 6 — Fred. E. Stanton, 6 — Horace R. Parker, 5 — Alice Westwood, 
9 — Ruth and Nell, 7 — Rose W. Greenleaf, 1 — Fred. J. Wheeler, 1 — "An Amateur," 3 — Marguerite Kyte, 1 — Marie and Florence, 4 — 
Appleton H., 7 — Bess Burch, 8 — Professor and Co., 8 — Emily Danzel, 1 — Millie and Mamma, 3 — Arthur Barnard, 2 — Maggie, 
Nellie, and Alice Smith, 2 — Lois Hawks, 1 — Hattie, Lillie, Ida, and Olive, 5 — George Lyman Waterhouse, 10 — U. C. B., 7 — Ida and 
Edith Swanwick, 7 — Charlotte and Harry Evans, 5 — H. I. D., 2 — Mary Stuart, 7 — Crocus, 9 — "Captain Nemo," 11 — Vessie W. 
and Millie W.,8— B.S. Latham, 2— Lulu and Mamie, 4 —J. A. Piatt, n— C. W. F.,4— W. Sheraton, 1 — Jennie M. Jones, 1 — 

B. Palmer, 4 — J. C. Winne and G. C. Beebe, 5 — Buzz Gree and Co., 3. 

From a painting by Alfred Kappes. 

f Mr. R. M. Donaldson. 



Vol. XI. 

JULY, 1884. 

No. 9. 

[Copyright, 1884, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Emma W. Demeritt. 

For the third time little Ruth Holley stepped 
out on the broad flat stone that served as a door- 
step, and shading her eyes with her hand looked 
eagerly down the road. 

" Oh, dear ! " she sighed, glancing at the long 
slanting shadows; "it's almost supper-time and 
they have n't come, and Sister Molly is never 
late ! " 

Then she turned and passed through the nar- 
row entry into the kitchen, where her mother was 
bending over a big iron pot which hung from the 
crane in the wide fire-place. 

"Well, Daughter, any signs of 'em yet?" 

"No, Mother," answered Ruth, almost ready to 
cry. " Perhaps Gray Duke has run away, or 
some of the dreadful Tories have stopped them; 
and if anything should happen to Geordie or the 
twins, I don't know what I should do ! " 

Mrs. Holley raked the embers forward and threw 
a fresh log on the fire. " I would n't borrow any 
trouble, Daughter," she said quietly ; " real trouble 
comes thick and fast enough in these dark days 
without any need of borrowing more." 

The kitchen door opened, and a tall gray-haired 
man entered. 

"1 've put the milk in the pantry, Mother. 
Where are Molly and the children ? Have n't they 
come ? " 

Mrs. Holley shook her head. 

" Ruth is worrying, Father, for fear that they 've 
been caught by Tories or that Gray Duke has 
run away with them." 

The farmer threw back his head and laughed. 

" No fear of that, little girl ! Molly Pidgin is a 
born horsewoman, and Duke may be fiery and un- 
manageable enough with strangers, but he 's like 
a lamb with Molly. And as for being caught by 
the Tories, — why, I 'd just like to see 'em do it, 
that 's all ! There is n't a horse in these parts that 
can keep within sight of Duke's heels. I knew his 
value well when I gave him to Molly for a wedding 
gift. And they arc well matched for spirit ! " 

" I wish Molly had less spirit, Father, for then 
when Edward went away, she would have come up 
here to stay with us," returned Mrs. Holley. 
"Middlesex is no place for her; it 's a perfect 
nest of Tories ! But we had hard work to get her 
to spend even this week with us ! " 

" Well, I suppose she thought some of the Tories 
would run off the cattle or ransack the house 
while she was away. We are passing through 
dark days — dark days, Mother ! It's bad enough 
to have to fight an open foe, but when it comes to 
having neighbors who are on the watch for every 
chance to plunder you and to give you over to the 
Red-coats, it 's almost more than flesh and blood 
can stand ! " 

It was the summer of 17S1, the darkest and 
most trying period of the Revolution. The cam- 
paign of 1779 had proved a failure. The British 
were everywhere successful, and the American 
army had done almost nothing toward bringing 
the war to a close. And 17S0 was a still more dis- 
couraging year. The winter was one of the coldest 





ever known, and the sufferings of the Continental 
troops in their winter quarters at Morristown were 
terrible. Early in 1781, several hundred of the 
soldiers revolted and were only kept by the point 
of the bayonet from going home, so that this year, 
too, opened most disastrously. The dwellers on 
the Connecticut coast lived in constant fear of the 
British, who occupied New York City and Long 
Island, and frequently crossed the Sound at night 
in boats, to plunder the inhabitants and carry 
them away captives. Norwalk, Middlesex (now 
Darien), and Stamford were particularly hated 
by the English on account of the patriotism of 
their three ministers, and the Red-coats had been 
planning for a long time some way of punishing 
the Rev. Mr. Mather, whose earnest teachings 
served to keep up the almost fainting courage of 
the people of Middlesex. 

Mrs. Holley swung the crane further over the 
fire, and then helped Ruth to set the table with the 
dark-blue china and the large pewter platters, which 
had been scoured until they shone like silver. 

" Hark ! -What is that ? " said the farmer, going 
to the door. But Mrs. Holley and Ruth were there 
before him, just in time to see a powerful gray 
horse dash up to the door and stop obediently at 
the decided "Whoa!" of his mistress, a rosy- 
cheeked, bright-eyed young woman. Behind her, 
on the pillion, and securely tied to her waist, was 
four-year-old Geordie, while in front, encircled by 
her arms, sat the baby twins, Ben and Desire, as 
like as two peas. In a moment, Geordie was un- 
fastened and Ruth was smothering him with 
kisses, while Mrs. Holley looked very proud with 
a twin on either arm. 

'• Well, Molly," said her father, looking at her 
admiringly as she sprang lightly to the ground, 
" you are as spry as ever. We had begun to 
worry about you. What made you so late ? " 

" I was waiting for dispatches from Edward, and 
they came just before I left. They 've had a ter- 
rible winter, Father," and the tears gathered in 
Molly's eyes. " Our brave men have been with- 
out shoes and had only miserable rags for clothing, 
and hundreds of them have died from hunger and 
cold. At times they have had neither bread nor 
meat in the camp, and the Continental money 
lost value so that it took four months' pay of a pri- 
vate to buy a bushel of wheat ! Edward says if it 
had not been for the great heart and courage of 
Washington they would have given up in utter 
despair. But things are looking brighter now. 
Congress has sent them money, and General 
Greene has had some splendid victories in the South ; 
and Edward says there are still more to follow." 

" You don't say ! " cried the farmer in a 
ringing voice, and his bent form straightened, and 

his blue eyes flashed. " Now, may the Lord be 
praised ! How many times have I told you, 
Mother, that we 'd certainly win in the end." 

"But these victories cost so, Father!" said 
Molly, throwing her arm over the horse's neck 
and hiding her face against his glossv mane. 
"O Duke, Duke! When will your master come 
back to us? " 

Duke had been champing his bit uneasily, but 
at the sound of his mistress's voice, he became 
instantly quiet. He turned his full, bright eye 
on her and lowered his head until his nose 
rubbed against her hand. 

"Just look at the critter, Mother!" cried 
Farmer Holley. " I think he actually knows what 
the girl is saying." 

" Edward wrote that there was a great scarcity 
of horses in the army, and asked me, in case Duke 
was needed for our Washington, if I would be 
willing to give him up." 

"' It would be rather hard to give up Duke. Eh, 
Molly, girl ? " 

" I would even part with him, if necessary. I 
will do anything and everything that I can, for the 
sake of our country," said Molly. " And dear old 
Duke is fit to carry even so good and great a man 
as Washington." 

In a few moments the family was seated at the 
table, and opening the big, leather-bound Bible, 
Farmer Holley read a short chapter, followed by 
the simple evening prayer. 

The next morning, after breakfast was cleared 
away, Molly said to her father : 

" I believe I '11 ride down to Middlesex church. 
I don't like to miss one of Parson Mather's ser- 
mons. They are a great comfort to me. And 
I can see, too, whether the house is all right. I 
can get there in time for the afternoon service, 
and I '11 take Ruth with me for company." 

Shortly before noon, Duke was brought to the 
door, and so impatient was he, that he could hardly 
wait for Molly and Ruth to mount. Off they went 
at a rapid pace, through the gate and down the 
old post-road, and Canaan Parish was soon left far 

After a few pats and a little coaxing, Duke set- 
tled down to a sober trot. A ride of six miles 
brought them to Molly's house, and a glance told 
them that all was safe. Then they came in sight 
of the wooden meeting-house, with its stiff little 
belfry. On one side was a dense swamp border- 
ing the road. As they passed it, Ruth glanced 
carelessly back, and her heart gave a great thump, 
as she thought she saw a bit of red color and 
a glitter as of sunshine on burnished steel. 
She looked again, but there was nothing but an 
unbroken wall of green leaves, so thick was the 




growth of bushes and tangled vines. Her first 
impulse was to tell Molly. Then she laughed at 
her foolish fears. " 1 '111 but a silly girl," she 
thought ; " it was all imagination ! " 

The bell was still ringing, and Molly went be- 
hind the church, where the horses were fastened, 
and tied Duke to a tree. Then she took Ruth 
by the hand, crossed the 

through the little entry 
the aisle to a square, 

porch, passed 
and walked up 
high-backed pew. 

" Surrender or die ! " called a loud voice. " Es- 
cape is impossible, for both doors are guarded." 

Three or four young men climbed out of the 
windows, but the shots fired after them warned 
others of the dangers of flight. With clanking 
arms a number of British soldiers, led by some of 
the Middlesex Tories, rudely entered the church 
and proceeded to plunder the congregation. Silver 
watches were taken, silver buckles were torn from 
knee-breeches and shoes, and ear-rings 
roughly snatched from women's ears. 

Molly started up indignant, as a trooper 
- .... .. pointed to the gold beads on her neck. 

"I '11 thank ye for those gewgaws, 
ma'am," said he. 

" Softly, softly, Mistress Pidgin," 
exclaimed a neighbor: "re- 

4'/;. \8& tsls^*\j-.' 

5=5.^' - 0^ 


sistance is of no use." And Molly 

The young girl heard but little of the service. 
She could not get that bit of red color and the 
glitter in the swamp out of her mind. The 
windows were open, and she found herself listen- 
ing intently for every little sound, but she heard 
nothing except the singing of birds and the rust- 
ling of the leaves, as the warm south wind gently 
stirred the branches of the trees. But when Mr. 
Mather, from his high pulpit perched beneath 
the great sounding-board, began to read the 
hymn, suddenly the words died away on his lips. 
He closed his book and remained motionless, with 
his eyes riveted on the open door. 

gave up 



Then she whispered to Ruth: "Keep close 
by me. Little Sister! Do just as I do — keep 
getting nearer the door — a step at a time — 
without attracting attention. If I can only 
save Duke ! " The British tied the men. two 
by two, and, amid the soldiers' jeers and hoot- 
ing, the gray-haired minister was dragged trom 
the pulpit. 

"Let the rebel parson lead the march," cried 
one; "and hark ye. sirrah, step lively, or you '11 
feel the prick of my bayonet — we must make 





haste, or the whole town will be after us." he 
added in a lower tone, addressing one of his 

In the meantime, Molly and Ruth had reached 
the door without being seen, and Mistress Pidgin 
peeped out cautiously. The guard had left his 
post to help lead the horses to the front of the 
church. Most of them had been taken, but Duke 
was still standing under the tree. 

The two sisters darted down the steps, climbed 
up on a stone fence, untied Duke, and mounted, 
but had gone only a few yards when they en- 
countered two men. 

" Stop ! " cried one of them, seizing the bridle. 
Molly bent over Duke, and patted him gently on 
the neck. Then she raised her whip and brought 
it down with all her might on his flank. He reared 
wildly, and, with a furious plunge that would have 
unseated a less skillful rider than Molly, he freed 
himself from his captor, dashed across the green, 
and, with ears laid flat against his neck and his tail 
streaming out like a white banner, he darted like 
an arrow up the road. 

Ruth was partly thrown from the pillion, but 
Molly's strong arm was around her, and her calm 
voice sounded re-assuringly : 

" Pull yourself up to the pillion ! Never fear ! I 
can hold you ; " and even in that mad flight the 
little girl was able to draw herself up to a secure 
position. As they reached the top of a long hill, 

Molly drew rein and looked back. A few mounted 
men had started in pursuit, but Duke was too fleet 
for them, and they had turned back. 

"O my brave Duke," said Molly; " may you 
always carry your rider as swiftly from danger as 
you have carried us to-day ! " 

Duke bore them swiftly up the old road to Canaan 
Parish, and as soon as they reached home safely, 
the alarm was given by the ringing of bells and 
the firing of guns, and several of the men started 
at once for Middlesex. But they were too late ! 
The prisoners had been carried across the 
Sound, and from thence they were sent to the 
prison-ships in New York Bay, where some of them 
languished and died, and others, among them 
Parson Mather, after a long delay, were returned 
to their homes. 

Meantime, Duke was sent to the headquar- 
ters of the Continental Army, and it was the 
proudest day of Molly's life when, soon after the 
declaration of peace, she stood on a balcony with 
Edward and the children beside her, and heard the 
thunder of artillery, the ringing of bells, and the 
wild cheers of the people. For, as she looked 
up the street she saw, amid the waving of flags 
and the fluttering of handkerchiefs, passing under 
the triumphal arch, with proudly arched neck and 
quivering nostrils, a magnificent gray horse, bear- 
ing on his back that martial figure so well known 
and loved — the noble Washington. 


i88 4 .; 



cfcrltfe & &n&gotf 


Chapter VIII. 


!ASPAR was stunned by 
the fall, but not seri- 
ously hurt. 

On coming to him- 
self, he found that he 
was in a narrow dun- 
geon, perhaps three 
feet in diameter, which 
smelled strongly of 
damp and decay. He 
was sitting on a soft, 
rotting mass of stuff, 
which must have served to break his fall ; his legs 
were buried in it to the knees. He had a sense 
of having been terribly wrenched and jarred, with 
a sick and giddy feeling about the head. 

The hollow was dark. He felt the rough, mold- 
dering walls with his hands, and then looked up. 
A round spot of light, which did not seem very far 
above, showed the aperture by which he had been 

" If I had room enough to work in that narrow 
part up there, I could get out," he said to himself. 
For he had his knife in his pocket, and he be- 
lieved he could cut foot-holds into wood sufficiently 
solid to bear his weight. 

"But it will take so long ! " he thought. "I 
shall starve first, or smother " — for he was feeling 
the need of fresh air. 

His mind was quickly diverted from that project 
by an incident. One could hardly expect to meet 
with an adventure at the bottom of such a tube as 
that ; yet one happened to Gaspar. 

As he was getting upon his feet, he felt some- 
thing stir in the rubbish beneath him, and thought 
of his scarlet tanager. He thrust down his hand 
and seized something which was less like feathers 

than fur, but loosed his hold instantly on receiv- 
ing a bite in the thumb. The creature thereupon 
scampered over his knees and darted across his 
shoulder and down the back of his coat, with a 
quick chipper which told plainly enough what sort 
of companion he had in his dungeon. 

" A chipmunk ! " he exclaimed. "Where did 
the fellow go to ? " For all was still again in a 

This trifling incident seemed important to the 
prisoner, and it gave him hope. He reasoned : 

" It is not the habit of chipmunks to climb trees. 
This one never came in at the top of the trunk ; he 
must have a hole somewhere down here. There 
is probably an opening on one side as there is at 
the roots of most hollow trunks." 

If the squirrel had his summer home there, it 
seemed strange that he had not run out of his 
door when he saw so extraordinary a visitor com- 
ing down the chimney. Some dislodged fragments 
of the crumbling interior must have fallen, Gaspar 
thought, and suddenly stopped the hole. Had 
the frightened animal now dived down amongst 
them to find his way out? If so, they had closed 
after him; forthe prisoner could discern no glimmer 
of light except what came in at the top. 

His eyes growing accustomed to the obscurity, 
he could see about all that was to be seen in that 
dismal place. This was very little indeed ; only 
the dim outline of the litter beneath his feet, and the 
walls consumed by the slow combustion of time. 
He soon had out his knife, and began to chip into 
them, quickly striking the rings of the hard wood 
which supported the living branches. 

" My best chance," he said, "will be to find the 
natural opening, if there is one." And he set 
himself to search for that. 

After poking awhile with his feet, he was re- 
warded by seeing a faint gleam of light which did 
not come in at the top. With fresh hope and joy. 
he dug the rubbish awav from it. and discovered a 




narrow, jagged slit, apparently in the angle be- 
tween two branching roots. 

Exploring it with his hands, he found it not more 
than three or four inches in breadth and inclosed 
by solid folds of wood and bark. But if it did not 
promise immediate escape to the prisoner, it 
offered what was almost as welcome, a prospect of 
fresh air. 

" If I can breathe," he said, "I will cut my 
way out in time." 

He burrowed still farther, throwing the rubbish 
in a heap behind him ; but could not find that the 
slit enlarged as he went deeper. On the contrary, 
it soon grew narrower, as if the two roots — if they 
were two, originally — were crowded together at the 
surface of the ground. 

He could now look out and see the waning aft- 
ernoon light on the dead leaves that strewed the 
forest floor. He had not thought that he should 
ever look upon that peaceful scene again ; and as 
he fixed his yearning eyes upon it, and drew the 
fresh air into his lungs, a deep sense of gratitude 
filled his heart, such as he had not felt in all his 
life before. 

He could not see the pine he had climbed, nor 
the log on which he had left his gun ; and he con- 
cluded that they must be on the opposite side of 
the hollow tree. The slant of the sunlight among 
the forest stems, and the apparent falling away of 
the ground in the direction of Bingham's swamp, 
confirmed him in this opinion. 

The first thing he did, after looking out and in- 
haling fresh draughts of air, was to call again for 
help. But now, as much of his voice as was not 
muffled in the tree seemed to strike down upon the 
earth, and to penetrate the forest no farther than 
when he sent it straight up into the sky. 

" No use in my losing time this way! " he said, 
and at once set about enlarging the aperture with 
his knife. 

The decayed part of the bark was easily scraped 
from the edges of the separated folds; but hard 
enough he found the green wood beneath. He 
worked away at it with right good will, however, 
knowing that the slightest splinter or shaving he 
removed diminished by so much the barrier that 
kept him from liberty and home. 

For home meant liberty and happiness to him 
now. How could he ever have scoffed at it, and 
nursed a moody discontent, with the blessings he 
enjoyed ? Was it not his own fault that his father 
had opposed the killing of birds, and the hunting 
of nests and eggs, which had been so large a part 
of his boy life ; seeing him with those low asso- 
ciates, in whose company he seemed to forget all 
the love and duty he owed his parents and friends ? 

He made slow progress, hurting his hand with 

the short-bladed knife and on the rough edges of 
the wood. But still he worked away, and as he 
worked, he thought : 

" Why was I never willing to do anything to 
please them, while they were always doing so 
much for me ? Why could n't I have seen that it 
was only my good they thought of when they sent 
me to school, and tried to have me keep better 
company, and be industrious, and respectful, and 
decent? Oh, what a fool I have been ! " 

Yes, he had been worse than a fool ; he had 
been headstrong in his selfish, thankless, often 
cruel opposition to their wishes. All this he said 
to himself, recalling many instances of his unwor- 
thy conduct, and longing for freedom, that he 
might begin life over again and redeem the past. 

'•What if I had died in this hole — what if I 
should die here now — leaving all my bad actions 
to be remembered ? The very last thing I did 
was to disobey my father and break my promise to 
School-master Pike ; the last words I spoke to 
Ella were mean and unjust ! " 

It was growing dark ; the sunlight had disap- 
peared from the boughs and stems, and deep 
shadows were creeping over the solitary forest. 
Occasionally he ceased cutting, to look out and 
call, and listen. No voices answered, no footsteps 
approached ; nor was he much disappointed, for 
he knew well that it was not yet time for his ab- 
sence from home to excite alarm, and he was in 
the most unfrequented part of the woods. 

It would soon be quite dark; he must make the 
most of what daylight was left. He expected 
nothing else'than that he must spend the night 
where he was, with no near neighbors but the 
katydids and owls. Supperless, lonesome, op- 
pressed by the gloom, the odors of decay, and his 
own terrors and regrets — the prospect was one to 
make a better and braver boy shudder. 

" I shall work a part of the night, anyway; for 
when 1 can't see, I can feel. Then when I am tired 
out, I can perhaps sleep." 

The night insects had struck up their monoto- 
nous notes in the darkening woods ; and now a 
fine, incessant hum about his ears, with an occa- 
sional sting on face or hands, gave warning that a 
swarm of mosquitoes had found him out. He 
could imagine them rising like a misty cloud from 
Bingham's swamp, and dividing into two parties, 
one of which filed in at the aperture where he was 
at work, while the other poured down upon him 
through the opening above. They interrupted 
his work ; how then could he hope that they would 
let him sleep ? 

Fighting the invaders with one hand, he plied 
his knife with the other, blistering his palm and 
bruising his knuckles, but determined not to give 

i88 4 .] 



over his toil till he had made a hole that he could 
squeeze his body through, and get out of that terri- 
ble place. The darkness closed in upon him ; he 
could no longer see where he thrust his blade. 
Patience was not one of his virtues, and he was 
growing desperate. The tough, green fibers would 
not come away fast enough, and he began to work 
off thicker chips, pressing and pryingwith the knife. 

Chapter IX, 


Having obtained possession of the fowling-piece, 
Pete felt it a great grievance that he should be 
obliged to give it up. 

''He's dead, or run away; I don't see why 
I can't hev it 's well 's anybody," he muttered, as 


Suddenly something snapped. He uttered a 
cry of dismay, '['he knife had but one whole 
blade, and that had broken under his hand. 

To the misery of the night that followed, was 
now added the horrible apprehension that he might 
not be traced to that remote part of the woods, 
and that he was destined to perish in the hol- 
low tree. 

" But I can at least put my hand and some part 
of my clothing out of the hole," he said; "and 
there is my gun, which will be found some time ; 
that will set people to looking hereabouts. But 
perhaps it may not be found till long after I am 
dead ! " 

He did not know that his gun had already 
been carried off by the prowling Pete, while he 
lay silent and stunned in the bottom of the hol- 
low trunk. 

he crawled into the bushes where he had con- 
cealed the gun that Sunday afternoon. " Alight 's 
well leave it here. B'sides, ther might be folks 
in the woods that 'ud see me with it." 

He persuaded himself that it would be well to 
wait until night, at all events; in the meantime he 
would not go home, but live on melons, which he 
knew well enough where to find. 

"What's b'come o' the feller, anyhow?" he 
said, as he crept out of the bushes again, without 
the gun. And that strange fascination which often 
attends the wrong-doer led him to wander again 
through the woods in the direction of Bingham's 

He stopped often to look about him, and often 
changed his course ; but invariably his feet would 
turn again, and his eyes look off toward the spot 
where he had found the gun. 




At last he came in sight of the log. Then he 
stopped and sat down on a mossy root. After a 
while he went on again, not directly toward the 
log, but walking around it. wondering more and 
more how the gun ever got there, and what had 
become of its owner. The woods were strangely 
still ; and he was frightened at the thought of 
Caspar having shot himself and crawled away to 
die, perhaps in some of the hollows of the great 

He stopped to pick and chew a few fresh check- 
crberry leaves ; then, resolved not to be a coward, 
having looked all about again to see that nobody 
was in sight, he walked straight to the log. 

He was still in a nervous tremor, looking first at 
the ground for traces of Caspar, and then peering 
about in the silent woods, when all at once he 
heard a voice. 

Where did it come from ? It seemed quite near, 
and yet there was nobody in sight. He looked up 
into the trees, he looked all around again in the 
quiet forest, with superstitious fear — waiting 
quakingly until he heard the mysterious voice 
again, then he took to his heels. 

He ran like a deer, and never stopped until, 
leaping over a ridge of rock, he came face to face 
with a man. It was Mr. Pike, the school-master. 

" Peter," he exclaimed, " you are the boy I was 
looking for ! " 

" Wha' d' ye want o' me?" said the Breathless 

''Wait, and I '11 tell you," replied the master, 
seeing the boy inclined to avoid him and continue 
his flight. " What were you running for? " 

" Jes' for fun — I dunno — sometimes I run, an' 
sometimes I don't," stammered Pete. " Is n't any 
law aginst a fellow's runnin', is ther' ? " 

"No," said the master, sternly. "But there 
are laws against some other things. Don't try to 
get away ! You are going with me, or I am going 
with you, whichever way it happens. But I prom- 
ise to be your friend in this matter, if you '11 tell 
me the truth." 

"Truth 'bout what?" 

" About Caspar Heth." 

"'Bout Gap Heth?" gasped Pete, with wild 

" Yes ; what has become of him ? " 

" Dunno what 's become on him; I tol' ye so 
last night." 

"Well, then," said the master, laying hold of 
his ragged collar, "tell me what has become of 
his gun, and where you found it." 

Pete glared up at him, pale and chattering with 
fright. He did not know how much Mr. Pike knew 
of the truth, and was afraid to utter a straightfor- 
ward lie. 

" If you wont speak, then you and I go straight 
to Squire Coburn's," and Mr. Pike started to lead 
him oft". 

As Squire. Coburn was the village justice, Pete 
struggled and hungback; but at last he exclaimed : 

" Lemme go, an' I 'H tell ye. I found the gun 
on a log over yender by Bingham's swamp, but 
Gap Heth wa'n't anywheres around, sure 's I 'm 
alive ! " 

" Come and show me the place," said the master. 

Pete started, but presently hung back again. 

" 1 don't want to ! " he said. " That 's what I 
was runnin' away from — his ha'nt." 

" His what?" Mr. Pike demanded, impatiently. 

"His ha'nt. I heard it, jes' as plain! But 
could n't see a thing. That 's what scairt me. I 'm 
awful 'fraid o' ha'nts ! " 

"What do you mean by haunts? — Ghosts? 
Do you imagine you Ye heard Caspar's ghost ? " 

" I know I hev ! " cried Pete. 

" Come along and show me the spot," said the 
master. " If you heard Gaspar's voice, it was 
Caspar himself who called, and not his '//«'»/.' 
Come ! for he must be in trouble." 

Partly re-assured, Pete accompanied him ; but 
paused again before they had gone far over the 

" Ye can hear it now ! " he said. 

Mr. Pike listened a moment. "It is certainly 
Caspar calling ! " he exclaimed ; and, leaving the 
reluctant Pete to his fears, he set out to run in the 
direction of the voice. *^ 

Curiosity prompted Pete to follow at a safe dis- 
tance. " That 's the log ! " he shouted, as the 
master paused, not knowing which way to turn ; 
" right afore ye ! " 

The voice sounded again ; and Mr. Pike, stand- 
ing by the log, was as much puzzled at first as Pete 
had been to decide whence it came. Proceeding 
from the hollow tree, it was like the speech of a 
ventriloquist ; and one could imagine it almost 
anywhere except where it was. 

But instead of running away as Pete had done, 
Mr. Pike called: 

" I hear you, Caspar ! where are you? " 

" In the hollow tree," replied the voice. " Come 
around the other side." 

The master had already seen far enough to assure 
himself that Caspar was not behind the tree. He 
now obeyed the voice, and was more disturbed 
than he had ever been in all his life, to see a 
grimy hand thrust out of an opening in the bark. 
If the voice was like ventriloquism, the appear- 
ance of the hand was like magic. 

"Why, Caspar!" he cried, hastening to the 
aperture, and seizing the hand as if to make sure 
of it, ' how did vou ever get in there?" 



" I slipped in at the top, trying to get a bird." 

Gaspar spoke in a stifled voice, and as he could 
not bring his mouth to the outer rim of the orifice, 
it sounded almost as if the tree itself had spoken. 

Mr. Pike looked up, and the manifest impossi- 
bility of a boy's climbing that prodigious trunk 
added to his bewilderment. But his eyes followed 
the limb that curved across the top of the pine, 
where he saw Caspar's cap lodged ; and he re- 
quired no further explanation of the mystery. 

" Run as you would for your life ! " he said to the 
staring Pete. "Bring the nearest farmer with his 
ax. And get word to the Heths, if you have a 
chance. Say that Gaspar is found — alive — in 
a hollow tree ! " 

Pete was off again in a moment, plying those 
nimble legs of his. 

"You can stand it ten or fifteen minutes long- 
er," Mr. Pike said, turning again to Gaspar. 

"Oh yes," replied the prisoner, in feeble and 
quivering accents. " After a night and a day in 
such a place as this, I sha' n't care for half an hour 
more, if you wont leave me !" 

"Poor fellow ! " said the sympathizing master; 
" how you must have suffered ! I wont leave you : 
never fear." 

It is strange how the voice of pity will some- 
times stir depths of the heart which agony itself 
could not reach. In all the wretchedness and 
horror of his imprisonment, Gaspar had not wept 
as he wept now that he was found and a friend 
was speaking to him consoling words. 

" It has n't been very gay in here, " he said, 
checking his sobs, and trying to speak cheerfully. 
"I'm nearly starved. And the mosquitoes — 
you never saw such a place for mosquitoes ! But 

I don't care for anything now that you " Here 

his sobs choked him again. 

" Was there no way of getting out? " Mr. Pike 

" I might have cut my way out if I had n't 
broken my knife. Then, this morning, I tried 
climbing. The hollow is pretty large at the top 
and bottom, but there is a spot I could n't get 
through ; it 's so narrow I had no chance to use 
my legs and arms. Then 1 tried digging under 
the trunk, but tore my fingers for nothing. There 's 
no under to it. You just go right down into the 
hard roots." 

" It 's one of the most astonishing adventures I 
ever heard of! " exclaimed the master. " I came 
in sight of this place once, this morning, hunting 
for you, but who would ever have thought of find- 
ing you in a hollow trunk ? I don't wonder Pete 
Cheevy thought it was your ghost that called ! " 

"Did he?" said Gaspar, with a faint laugh. 
" I did n't know whether anybody would be hunt- 

ing for me or not ; I was afraid I might n't be 
thought worth the trouble." 

" What do you mean by that, Gaspar? ' 

" Oh, you know what I mean ! " said the voice 
in the tree, breaking again. " I heard all your 
talk with my mother that first day you called at 
our house; and every word she said to you was 
true — only it was n't half the truth ! It took a 
night and a day in a hollow tree to bring me to 
my senses, and show me what a worthless wretch 
I have been. " 

It required an effort for the master to control 
his voice and reply, stooping to the dark aperture 
within which he could hear sounds of weeping : 

" It will take more than that — it will take a 
great many hollow trees and their lessons to con- 
vince your mother and me that you are as worth- 
less as you think yourself now. I told her then 
that I was sure there was good in you which only 
needed to be developed. " 

" I know you did; I heard you, " said Gaspar. 
" That 's what made me like you. But I have 
treated you as I have treated all my friends, and 
I have got my pay for it. If I had n't broken my 
promise to you about shooting birds, I should n't 
have got into this scrape. What did my folks 
say ? " 

" They have n't known wnat to say or think. 
Your disappearance has been a terrible thing to 
them. I believe your father concluded that you 
had run away ; but your mother feared something 
worse had happened — that you had met with a 
fatal accident. They passed a dreadful night, as 
well as you, Gaspar ! " 

" I suppose so. I have thought of them a 
thousand times," murmured the boy; "knowing 
so well that I never was worth the least part of the 
trouble I have caused them." 

" You may have had some reason to think so," 
said the master. " But I trust we shall all have 
reason to think very differently in the future." 

'■' I hope so! " breathed Gaspar, devoutly. " If 
I did n't, I should wish never to get out of this 
tree alive." 

Chapter X. 


DURING the latter part of this conversation 
between the boy in the hollow tree and the man 
outside, the man began to look anxiously at his 
watch. Ten — fifteen — twenty minutes passed: 
and still no farmer came with his ax, and no 
Pete re-appeared. 

"Wont they ever come?" said Caspar, despair- 

"They are a long while about it/' replied the 




master. " If you can bear to have me leave you 
a few minutes, I believe I can bring somebody, or 
find an ax ; it is n't far out of the woods on one 
side." He consulted his watch again, adding: 
" I have n't much confidence in that Pete." 

"Oh, he will bring somebody, I 'm certain," 
said Caspar. " Don't go ! It seems to me as if I 
could n't be left alone again." 

" Wait ! I hear shouts ! " said the master. " I 
believe the men Peter sent have mistaken their 
way and gone on the wrong side of the swamp." 

He was right in his conjecture. He answered 
the shouts, and the men answered back. And 
soon the woods resounded with cries from other 
directions, where men and boys who had caught 
up the news that Pete had left on his way to 
the village came hurrying to see Caspar Heth 
taken out of a hollow tree. 

The voice of the school-master, standing guard 
by his young friend, guided all comers to the 
place. And now appeared Pete himself with the 
gun, and his father with an ax; and the two men 
first named, who had lost their way, came strug- 
gling through the swamp; and that spot in the 
woods, which had been so silent and solitary a lit- 
tle while before, became a scene of surprising 
activity. Shouts answered shouts as other comers 
appeared ; the oddest guesses and comments were 
made regarding Caspar's situation ; and every 
one had to go and peep in at the narrow aper- 
ture for a glimpse of his mosquito-bitten face or 
his blotched and smeary hands. 

" However did he squeeze in through that leetle 
hole ? " said Simon Crabbe. the cobbler, who was 
near-sighted as well as dull-witted, and who had 
not yet taken in the significance of the tree's 
broken top. " Reminds me of a toad in a rock; 
but they say a toad crawls in when he 's small, 
and grows there." 

Mr. Pike explained that Caspar was climbing 
after a bird; adding, — "Run up the tree there, 
Pete, and get his cap ; he will want it in a few 

" After a bird ! " said grim-looking old Dr. 
Kent. " I thought we were going to put a stop 
to this bird business. How is it, Mr. Pike ? " 

Mr. Pike appeared too busy just then to heed 
the question. 

"Stand back," he cried, "and make room for 
the axes ! " 

The crowd drew back and the elder Cheevy 
was the first to strike into the tree, making the 
bark and chips fly into the faces of those who 
remained too near. Although accounted a sort 
of vagabond, lazy and shiftless in his habits, he 
was athletic and handy with an ax ; and now he 
had a good opportunity to show his skill. The 

first of the men from the swamp took a position 
facing him, and offered to strike in on the other 
side of the loop-hole he was enlarging ; but old 
Pete warned him off. 

" You '11 hinder more 'n you '11 help," he said. 
(Hack! hack!) "You jes' lay low with the rest 
(hack!) an' you '11 see a hole 'n this 'ere shell 'n 
half a jiffy (hack !) that ahoss'n cart could back out 
of! " (Hack, hack !) And off fell the great chips. 

If it was a strange event to those looking on, 
waiting to see a lost boy cut out of a hollow oak, 
what was it to the boy himself, crouched beyond 
the possible reach of the ax, watching every 
stroke which opened wider the door of his prison 
and let the broad daylight in ? 

" That will do ! " he called to the chopper. " I 
can get out now." 

But Cheevy did not mean that he should creep 

" You 're go'n' ter walk out like a man ! " he 
said, ending, at last, with : " Now, how 's that?" 
as he drew back and poised his ax. 

"All right!" And Caspar leaped into the 
light and air of the beautiful August afternoon. 
" I 'm much obliged to you, Mr. Cheevy! I 'm 
much obliged to you all for coming to see what a 
fool I have made of myself ! " 

His eyes glistened and his voice was unsteady 
as he received the congratulations and answered 
the questions of friends crowding around. Sud- 
denly he said, " Excuse me ! " and, to the amaze- 
ment of everybody, walked back into the tree. 

" Have n't you had enough of it yet ? " cried the 
master, looking in after him. 

"Quite enough and to spare," replied Caspar. 
" But there 's one thing I must n't forget." And 
he took down from the inner coating of the trunk 
something he had fastened to it with a pin. 

It was his scarlet tanager, found while he was 
digging in the rubbish which had treacherously 
flaked off and come down with him when he 
slipped through the narrow part of the cavity. 

"I must keep this to remember this adventure 
by," he said, with a rueful smile and a long 
breath, as he once more stepped out of the tree, 
and instinctively brushed the particles of decayed 
wood from the brilliant plumage. " Now where's 
my gun ? " 

" Here 't is; I 've be'n keepin' on 't fer ye ! " 
cried young Pete Cheevy, springing forward with 
alacrity. " An' here's yer cap that I jes' got out 
o' the tree." 

"Thank you very much for both, Pete! " said 
Gaspar earnestly, as he put on the cap ; while 
Master Pike smiled significantly at old Pete, and 
old Pete winked deprecatingly at Master Pike. 

Then all the young fellows, and some of the 



older ones, had to take turns getting into the 
hollow trunk, or at least putting their heads in ; 
"jes'so's to see," as Cobbler Crabbe expressed 
it, "how il must have seemed to the boy shet 
up there for nigh about twenty-four hours." 

Meanwhile grim old Dr. Kent looked hard at 
the bird in Caspar's hand, and repeated his still 
unanswered question to Master Pike : 

" How is it about this bird-shooting? Did n't 
I understand that we were all going to unite in 
frowning it down and putting a stop to it ? " 

it. But let 's be consistent ; don't let us be re- 
specters of persons. His father 's a minister, and 
a man we all respect, and a good friend of mine 
besides ; but if his son — and I 'd say the same if 
he were mine — is guilty of breaking the law we 've 
pledged ourselves to see enforced, I don't see but 
that we ought to make an example of him. It 
will be a good beginning." 

" Your remarks are just," replied Master Pike. 
" And though I think Caspar has been punished 
enough for a good many faults besides bird-shoot- 


"Yes, I believe that was the understanding," 
replied Master Pike. 

" And did n't we agree that we 'd have the first 
boy that should break the law prosecuted ? That 's 
what was publicly given out as a notice and warn- 
ing to all ; was n't it ? " 

The school-master nodded a reluctant assent. 

"Well," said the doctor, with an emphasis 
meant to clinch his argument, " I don't want to 
mar the good feeling of a time like this. Caspar 
has been rescued from a bad fix. and I 'm glad of 

ing, I should n't object to seeing him prosecuted 
and lined, if he had broken the law in this case. 
But he has not." 

" Not broken the law ? " cried the grim-featured 
doctor, " with that dead bird in his hand ? " 

All eyes turned upon Caspar, who was about to 
speak, when the master forestalled him. 

"No, Doctor; and a prosecution in this case 
would n't hold water. Caspar is an ornithologist, 
or is going to be one : and he has a certificate 
from the Natural Historv Societv which allows 




him to take birds for scientific purposes. Here 
it is." 

He took from his pocket the paper which he 
was to have given Caspar the night before. 

" It is dated, you see, two days ago; so that the 
shooting of this tanager is a case exempt from the 
action of the law." 

" To be sure! to be sure!" said the doctor; 
while Caspar stared with mingled feelings of 
astonishment and gratitude. 

" You had it for me all the time, and to think 1 
did not know it ! " he said to Master Pike, on their 
way out of the woods. "You are too easy with 
me ; for I really deserved to forfeit it for breaking 
my promise." 

" I think," replied the master, indulgently, " you 
will keep your promises better in future." 

He had good reason for such a belief; thence- 
forward his influence over his pupil was com- 

Before they emerged from the woods, they were 
met by Minister Heth, who had heard the news, 
and was hastening to the scene of the rescue. At 
sight of his son, saved from a horrible fate, hag- 
gard, famished, insect-bitten, with soiled and blood- 
smeared hands, he forgot all his resentment, and 
like waters from a broken dam his paternal love 
crushed forth. 

All he said, however, was simply, — in a voice 
and with features which a strong will controlled, — 

" Caspar ! is it you at last ? " 

"'Yes, what there is left of me!" replied 
Caspar, with the same self-control. " How 's 
mother? " 

"She will be better for seeing you, Caspar!" 
said the minister, his resolute voice beginning 
to quaver and give way. " Come, my boy ! " 

What was left of him, after twenty-four hours in 
a dungeon with remorse and fear and starvation 
and mosquitoes — Caspar might well say that. He 
had lost something which he could well spare ; and 
what was left was the better part of him, as his 
conduct thenceforward, up to this date, has proven. 

He has not yet chosen the career by which he is 
to earn his living ; but he is preparing himself for 
usefulness by laying a broad foundation of knowl- 
edge ; and whatever work he may do in the world, 
he means that the pursuit in which he still de- 
lights — the study of birds — shall be his recreation. 

He has learned to stuff and mount his speci- 
mens ; and if you visit the family, you will see on 
the parlor mantel-piece a beautiful sample of his 
work, which, from the associations connected with 
it, has an especial value in the eyes of his friends. 

It is the Scarlet Tanager. 


By Caroline A. Mason 1 . 

Sprite, in leafy covert hid, 
' Twixt your "did n't" and your "did, 
Simple folk are quite in doubt 
What vour talk is all about. 

Who — do you imagine — cares, 
Katie, for your small affairs ? 
Hold your peace; and, for the rest, 
We '11 concede you did your best. 

"Did" and "did ;;'/".' That 's a clear 
Contradiction, Katie dear ; 
One would think you scarcely knew 
Anv odds between the two. 

If you did n't, more 's the shame ; 
if you did, then where 's the blame? 
So give o'er: You wont be chid 
Though vou did n't or you did. 

"Did?" — but what? And where? And when: 
" Did n't ! " — There you go again ! 

Such a slippery little chit ! — 

After all, what matters it ? 

Only, — your own counsel keep, 
Letting honest people sleep. 
If you did, then be it so; 
If vou did n't, let it go ! 

i88 4 .; 


6 79 






By Louisa M. Alcott. 

" Now, my lads and lasses, we must hurry, or 
we shall never empty this portfolio. Find easy 
places, and I will read several to-night ; we are so 
early, there will be time enough," said Aunt 
Elinor, as the flock settled down, ready, as usual, 
for an unlimited supply. 

"Never mind about choosing. Take the first 
that comes. We shall like it, whatever it is," an- 
swered Min, twirling her wheel busily and with a 
good deal of skill. 

" This is my one ghost story, and such a very 
mild one it wont frighten anybody." And amid a 
little stir of interest the reader began : 

"Well, what do you think of her? She has 
only been here a day, but it does n't take us long 
to make up our minds," said Nelly Blake, the 
leader of the school, as a party of girls stood chat- 
ting about the register one cold November morn- 

" I like her, she looks so fresh and pleasant, and 
so strong. I just wanted to go and lean up against 
her, when my back ached yesterday," answered 
Maud, a pale girl wrapped in a shawl. 

"I 'm afraid she 's very energetic, and I do hate 
to be hurried," sighed plump Cordelia, lounging 
in an easy-chair. 

" 1 know she is, for Biddy says she asked for a 
pail of cold water at six this morning, and she 's 
out walking now. Just think how horrid !" cried 
Kitty with a shiver. 

" I wonder what she does for her complexion. 

I never saw such a lovely color; real roses and 
cream," said Julia, shutting one eye to survey 
the freckles on her nose with a gloomy frown. 

" I longed to ask what sort of braces she wears 
to keep her so straight. I mean to, by and by ; she 
looks as if she would n't snub a body," and Sally 
vainly tried to square her round shoulders, bent 
with much poring over books ; for she was the 
bright girl of the school. 

" She wears French corsets, of course. Nothing 
else gives one such a fine figure," answered Maud, 
dropping the shawl, to look with pride at her own 
wasp-like waist and stiff back. 

" She could n't move about so easily and grace- 
fully if she wore a strait-jacket like you. She 's 
not a bit of a fashion plate, but a splendid woman, 
just natural and hearty and sweet. I feel as if I 
should n't slouch so much if I had her to brace 
me up," cried Sally in her enthusiastic way. 

" I know one thing, girls, and that is she can 
wear a jersey and have it set elegantly, and we 
can't," said Kitty, laboring with her own, which 
would wrinkle and twist, in spite of many hidden 

" Yes, I looked at it all breakfast time, and for- 
got my second cup of coffee, so that my head aches 
as if it would split. I never saw anything fit so 
splendidly in my life," answered Nelly, turning to 
the mirror, which reflected a fine assortment of 
many-colored jerseys ; for all the girls were out in 
their fall suits, and not one of the new jackets sat 
like that worn by Miss Orne, the new teacher who 

i88 4 .] 


68 1 

had arrived to take Madame's place while that 
excellent old lady was laid tip with a rheumatic 

"They are pretty and convenient, but I 'm afraid 
they will be a trial to some of us. Maud and 
Nelly look the best, but they have to keep stiff 
and still or the wrinkles come. Kit has no peace 
in hers, and poor Cordy looks more like a meal- 
bag than ever, while I am a perfect spectacle 
with my round shoulders and long, thin arms. A 
jersey on a bean-pole describes me ; but let us 
be in the fashion or die ! " laughed Sally, ex- 
aggerating her own defects by poking her head 
forward, and blinking through her glasses in a 
funny way. 

There was a laugh and then a pause, broken in 
a moment by Maud, who said in a tone of appre- 
hension : 

" I do hope Miss Orne is n't full of the new no- 
tions about clothes, and food, and exercise and 
rights and rubbish of that sort. Mamma hates 
such ideas, and so do I." 

" I hope she is full of good, wise notions about 
health and work and study. It is just what we 
need in this school. Madame is old and lets things 
go, and the other teachers only care to get through 
and have an easy time. We ought to be a great 
deal better, brisker, and wiser than we are, and 
I 'm ready for a good ' stirring-up ' if any one will 
give it to us," declared Sally, who was a very in- 
dependent girl and had read as well as studied 

"You Massachusetts girls are always raving 
about self-culture, and ready for queer new ways. 
I 'm contented with the old ways, and wish to be 
let alone and ' finished off' easily," said Nelly, the 
pretty New Yorker. 

" Well, I go with Sally, and want all I can get 
in the way of health, learning, and manners while 
I 'mhere, and I 'm really glad Miss Orne has come, 
for Madame's old-fashioned ' niminy-priminy ' 
ways did fret me dreadfully. Miss Orne is more 
like our folks out West — spry and strong and 
smart, see if she is n't," said Julia, with a decided 
nod of her auburn head. 

"There she is, now! Girls, she's running! 
actually trotting up the avenue — not like a hen, 
but like a boy — with her elbows down and her 
head up. Do come and see !" cried Kitty, dancing 
about at the window as if she longed to go and do 

All ran, in time to see a tall young lady come up 
the wide path at a good pace, looking as fresh and 
blithe as the goddess of health, as she smiled and 
nodded at them so like a girl, that all returned her 
salute with equal cordiality. 

" She gives a new sort of interest to the old 
Vol. XI.— 44. 

tread-mill, does n't she," said Nelly, as they scat- 
tered to their places at the stroke of nine, feeling 
unusually anxious to appear well before the new 

While they pull down their jerseys and take up 
their books, we will briefly state that Madame 
Stein's select boarding-school had for many years 
received six girls at a time and ' finished them off 
in the old style. Plenty of French, German, mu- 
sic, painting, dancing, and deportment turned out 
well-bred, accomplished, and amiable young ladies, 
ready for fashionable society, easy lives, and entire 
dependence on other people. Dainty and delicate 
creatures usually, for, as in most schools of this 
sort, minds and manners were much cultivated, 
but bodies rather neglected. Heads and backs 
ached, dyspepsia was a common ailment, and 
" poorlies " of all sorts afflicted the dear girls who 
ought not to have known what "nerves" meant, 
and who should have had no bottles in their closets 
holding wine and iron, cough-mixtures, and cod- 
liver oil for weak lungs. Gymnastics had once 
flourished, but the fashion had gone by ; and a 
short walk each day was all the exercise they took, 
though they might have had, in good weather, fine 
rambles about the spacious grounds, and glorious 
romps in the old coach-house and bowling-alley, 
when it rained ; for the house was in the suburbs 
and had once been a fine country mansion. Some 
of the liveliest girls did race down the avenue now 
and then, when Madame was away, and one irre- 
pressible creature had actually slidden down the 
wide balusters, to the horror of the entire house- 

In cold weather all grew lazy, and cuddled under 
blankets and around the registers, like so many 
warmth-loving pussies, poor Madame's rheumatism 
causing her to enjoy a hot-house temperature and 
to indulge the girls in luxurious habits. Finally, 
she had been obliged to give up entirely and take to 
her bed, saying, with the resignation of an indo- 
lent nature : 

" If Anna Orne takes charge of the school I 
shall feel no anxiety. She is equal to anything." 

She certainly looked capable as she came into 
the school-room ready for her day's work, with her 
lungs full of fresh air, her brain stimulated by 
sound sleep, wholesome exercise, and a simple 
breakfast, and her mind much interested in the 
task before her. The girls' eyes followed her as 
she took her place, involuntarily attracted by the 
unusual spectacle of a robust woman. Every- 
thing about her seemed so fresh, harmonious, and 
happy, that it was a pleasure to see the brilliant 
color in her cheeks, the thick waves of glossy hair 
on her spirited head, the flash of white teeth as 
she spoke, and the clear, bright look of eyes 




both keen and kind. But the girls' most admiring 
glances were bestowed upon the dark-blue jersey 
that showed the fine curves of the broad shoulders, 
round waist, and plump arms, without a wrinkle 
to mar its smooth perfection. 

Girls are quick to see what is genuine, to re- 
spect what is strong, and to love what is beautiful ; 
and before that day was over Miss Orne had charmed 
them all, for they felt that she was not only able 
to teach but also to help and amuse them. 

After tea, the other teachers went to their rooms, 
glad to be free from the clatter of half a dozen 
lively tongues, but Miss Orne remained in the 
drawing-room and set the girls to dancing till 
they were tired, then gathered them round the 
long table to do what they liked till prayer-time. 
Some had novels, others did fancy-work or lounged, 
and all wondered what the new teacher would do 

Six pairs of curious eyes were fixed upon her as 
she sat sewing on some queer bits of crash, and 
six lively fancies vainly tried to guess what the 
articles were, for no one was rude enough to ask. 
Presently she tried on a pair of mittens, and sur- 
veyed them with satisfaction, saying as she caught 
Kitty staring with uncontrollable interest : 

" These arc my beautificrs, and I never like to 
be without them." 

"Are they to keep your hands white?" asked 
Maud, who spent a great deal of time in caring for 
her own. " I wear old kid gloves at night after 
putting cold-cream on mine." 

" I wear these for five minutes night and morn- 
ing, for a good rub, after dipping them in cold 
water. Thanks to these rough friends I seldom 
feel the cold, always have a good color, and keep 
well," answered Miss Orne, polishing up her smooth 
cheek till it looked like a rosy apple. 

"I 'd like the color, but not the crash. Must 
it be so rough, and with cold water ? " asked Maud, 
who often privately rubbed her pale face with a bit 
of red flannel, rouge being forbidden. 

" It is best so ; but there are other ways to get a 
color. Run up and down the avenue three or four 
times a day, eat no pastry, and go to bed early," 
said Miss Orne, whose sharp eye had spied out the 
little weaknesses of the girls, and whose kind heart 
longed to help them at once. 

" It makes my back ache to run, and Madame 
used to say we were too old now." 

"Never too old to care for your health, my 
dear. Better run now than lie on a sofa by and 
by with a back that never stops aching." 

"Do you cure your headaches in that way?" 
asked Nelly, rubbing her forehead wearily. 

" I never have them ; " and Miss Orne's bright 
eyes were full of pity for all pain. 

" What do you do to help it ? " cried Nelly, who 
firmly believed that it was inevitable. 

" I give myself plenty of rest, air, and good 
food. I never know I have any nerves except by the 
enjoyment they give me, for I have learned how 
to use them. I was not brought up to believe that 
I was born an invalid, and I was taught to under- 
stand the beautiful machinery God gave me, and 
to keep it religiously in order." 

Miss Orne spoke so seriously, that there was a 
brief pause in which the girls were wishing that 
some one had taught them this lesson and made 
them as strong and lovely as their new teacher. 

" If crash mittens would make my jersey sit like 
yours, I 'd have a pair at once," said Cordy, sadly 
eying the buttons on her own, which seemed in 
danger of flying off if their plump wearer moved 
too quickly. 

" Brisk runs are what you want, and less con- 
fectionery, sleep, and lounging in easy-chairs," 
began Miss Orne, ail ready to prescribe for these 
poor girls, the most important part of whose edu- 
cation had been so neglected. 

" Why. how did you know ? " said Cordy, blush- 
ing as she bounced out of her luxurious seat and 
whisked into her pocket the paper of chocolate 
creams she was seldom without. 

Her round eyes and artless surprise set the others 
to laughing and gave Sally courage to ask, then 
and there, what she had been secretly longing to 

" Miss Orne, I wish you would show us how to 
be strong and hearty, for I do think girls are a 
feeble set nowadays. We certainly need a ' stirring- 
up,'and I hope you will kindly give us one. Please 
begin with me, and then the others will see that I 
mean what I say." » 

Miss Orne looked up at the tall, overgrown girl 
who stood before her with the broad forehead, 
near-sighted eyes, and narrow chest of a student ; 
not at all what a girl of seventeen should be 
physically, though a clear mind and a brave spirit 
shone in her clever face and sounded in her reso- 
lute voice. 

" I shall very gladly do what I can for you, my 
dear. It is very simple, and I am sure that a few 
months of my sort of training will help you much, 
for you are just the kind of girl who should have a 
strong body to keep pace with a very active brain," 
answered Miss Orne, taking Sally's thin, inky 
fingers in her own with a friendly pressure that 
showed her good will. 

" Madame says violent exercise is not good for 
girls, so we gave up gymnastics long ago," said 
Maud in her languid voice, wishing that Sally 
would not suggest disagreeable things. 

" One does not need clubs, dumb-bells, and bars 



for my style of exercise. Let me show you," and, 
rising, Miss Orne went through a series of ener- 
getic, but graceful evolutions, which put every 
muscle in play without great exertion. 

" That looks easy enough," began Nelly. 

"Try it," answered Miss Orne, with a sparkle 
of fun in her blue eyes. 

They did try it, no doubt to the astonishment 
of the solemn portraits on the wall, unused to such 
antics in that dignified apartment. But some of the 
girls were out of breath in five minutes, and others 
could not lift their arms over their heads. Maud 
and Nelly broke several bones in their corsets try- 
ing to stoop, and Kitty tumbled down in her efforts 
to touch her feet without bending her knees. Sally 
made the best motions, being easy in her clothes, 
and full of enthusiasm. 

" Pretty well for beginners," said Miss Orne, as 
they paused at last, flushed and merry. " Do that 
regularly every day and you will soon gain a few 
inches across the chest and fill out the new jerseys 
with firm, elastic figures." 

" Like yours," added Sally, with a face full of 
such honest admiration that it could not offend. 

Seeing that she had made one convert, and 
knowing that girls, like sheep, are sure to follow 
a leader, Miss Orne said no more then, but waited 
for the lesson to work. The others called it one 
of Sally's notions, but were interested to see how 
she would get on, and had great fun, when they 
went to bed, watching her faithful efforts to imitate 
her teacher's rapid and effective motions. 

"The wind-mill is going! " cried Kitty, as sev- 
eral of them sat on the bed, laughing at the long 
arms swinging about. 

"That is the hygienic elbow-exercise, and that 
the Orne quickstep — a mixture of the grasshop- 
per's skip and the water-bug's slide," added Julia, 
humming a tune in time to the stamp of the 
other's foot. 

"We will call these the Jersey Jymnastics, and 
spell it with a J, my dears," said Nelly; and the 
name was received with as much applause as the 
young ladies chose to give it at that hour. 

" Laugh on, but see if you don't all follow my 
example sooner or later when 1 become a model 
of grace, strength, and beauty," retorted Sally, as 
she turned them out and went to bed, tingling all 
over with a delicious glow that sent the blood from 
her hot head to warm her cold feet, and bring her 
the sound, refreshing sleep she so much needed. 

This was the beginning of a new order of things ; 
for Miss Orne carried her energy into other mat- 
ters besides gymnastics, and no one dared oppose 
her when Madame shut her ears to all complaints, 
saying, "Obey her in everything, and don't trou- 
ble me." 

Pitchers of fresh milk took the place of tea and 
coffee; cake and pie were rarely seen, but better 
bread, plain puddings, and plenty of fruit. 

Rooms were cooled off, feather beds sent to the 
garret, and thick curtains abolished. Sun and air 
streamed in, and great cans of water appeared 
suggestively at doors in the morning. Earlier 
hours were kept, and brisk walks taken by nearly 
all the girls, for Miss Orne baited her hook 
cleverly and always had some pleasant project to 
make the wintry expeditions inviting. There 
were games in the parlor, instead of novels and 
fancy work, in the evening ; shorter lessons and 
longer talks on the many useful subjects that are 
best learned from the lips of a true teacher. A 
cooking class was started, not to make fancy 
desserts, but the plain substantial dishes all house- 
wives should understand. Several girls ■ swept 
their own rooms, and liked it after they saw Miss 
Orne sweep hers in a becoming dust-cap ; and 
these same pioneers, headed by Sally, boldly 
coasted on the hill, swung clubs in the coach- 
house, and played tag in the bowling-alley on 
rainy days. 

It took time to work these much-needed 
changes, but young people like novelty ; the old 
routine had grown tiresome, and Miss Orne made 
things so lively and pleasant that it was impossible 
to resist her wishes. 

Sally did begin to straighten up after a month 
or two of regular training; Maud outgrew both 
corsets and back-ache ; Nelly got a fresh color ; 
Kitty found her thin arms developing visible mus- 
cles ; and Julia considered herself a Von Hillern 
after walking ten miles without fatigue. 

But dear, fat Cordy was the most successful of 
all, and rejoiced greatly over the loss of a few 
pounds when she gave up over-eating, long naps, 
and lazy habits. Exercise became a sort of mania 
with her, and she was continually trudging off for 
"a constitutional," or trotting up and down the 
halls when bad weather prevented the daily tramp. 
It was the desire of her soul to grow thin, and such 
was her ardor that Miss Orne had to check her 
sometimes, lest she should overdo the matter. 

"All this is easy and pleasant now, because it 
is new," she said ; "and there is no one to criti- 
cise our simple, sensible ways, but when you go 
away I am afraid the good I have tried to do for 
you will be undone. People will ridicule you, 
fashion will condemn, and frivolous pleasures will 
make our wholesome ones seem hard. Can you 
be steadfast and keep on ? " 

"We will!" cried all the girls: but the older 
ones looked a little anxious, as they thought of 
going home to introduce the new ways alone. 

Miss Orne shook her head earnestly, wishing 




that she could impress the important lesson indeli- 
bly upon them ; and very soon something hap- 
pened which had that effect. 

April came, and the snowdrops and crocuses were 
up in the garden beds ; Madame was able to sit at 
her window peering out like a dormouse waking 
from its winter sleep, and much did the good 
lady wonder at the blooming faces turned up to 
nod and smile at her, the lively steps that tripped 
about the house, and the amazing spectacle of her 
young ladies racing round the lawn as if they liked 
it. No one knew how Miss Orne reconciled her to 
this new style of deportment, but she made no 
complaint, and only shook her impressive cap when 
the girls came beaming in to pay little visits full 
of happy chat about their affairs. They seemed 
to take a real interest in their studies now, to be 
very happy, and all looked so well that the wise 
old lady said to herself: 

" Looks are everything with women, and I have 
never been able to show such a bouquet of blooming 
creatures at my breaking up as 1 shall this year. 
I will let well enough alone, and if fault is found, 
dear Anna's shoulders are broad enough to bear 

Things were in this promising state, and all 
were busily preparing for the May fete, at which 
time this class of girls would graduate, when the 
mysterious events to which we have alluded 

They were gathered — the girls, not the events — 
around the table one night, discussing with the deep 
interest befitting such an important topic what 
they should wear on examination day. 

''/think white silk jerseys and pink or blue 
skirts would be lovely, and so pretty and so appro- 
priate for the J. J. Club, and so suitable for our 
exercises. Miss Orne wishes us to show how well 
we go together, and of course we wish to please 
her," said Nelly, taking the lead, as usual, in 
matters of taste. 

''Of course!" cried all the girls with an alac- 
rity which plainly showed how entire!}' the new 
friend had won their hearts. 

"I wouldn't have believed that six ' months 
could make such a difference in my figure and 
feelings," said Maud, surveying her waist with 
calm satisfaction, though it was no longer slender, 
but in perfect proportion to the rest of her youth- 
ful shape. 

" I 've had to let out every dress, and it 's 
a mercy I 'm going home, if I 'm to keep on at 
this rate ; " and Julia took a long breath, proud of 
her broad chest, expanded by plenty of exercise 
and loose clothing. 

" I take mine in, and don't have to worry about 
my buttons flying off a la Clara Peggotty. I 'm 

so pleased that I wish to be training all the time, for 
I 'm not half thin enough yet," said Cordy, jump- 
ing up for a trot around the room, that not a mo- 
ment might be lost. 

" Come, Saih'. you ought to join in the jubilee, 
for you have done wonders and will be as straight 
as a ramrod in a little while. Why so sober to- 
night ? Is it because our dear Miss Orne leaves us 
to sit with Madame ? " asked Nelly, missing the 
gayest voice of the seven, and observing her friend's 
troubled face. 

" I 'm making up my mind whether I 'd better 
tell you something or not. I don't wish to scare 
the servants, trouble Madame, or vex Miss Orne, 
for I know she would n't believe a word of it, 
though I saw it with my own eyes," answered 
Sally in such a mysterious tone, that the girls with 
one voice cried : 

" Tell us this minute ! " 

'• I will, and perhaps some of you can explain 
the matter." 

As she spoke, Sally rose and stood on the rug 
with her hands behind her, looking rather wild and 
queer, for her short hair was in a toss, her eyes 
shone large behind her round glasses, and her 
voice sank to a whisper as she made this startling 
announcement : 

'• 1 've seen a ghost ! " 

A general shiver pervaded the listeners, and 
Cordy poked her head under the sofa pillows with 
a faint cry, while the rest involuntarily drew nearer 
to one another. 

" Where? " demanded Julia, the bravest of the 

" On the top of the house." 

" Good gracious ! " " When, Sally ? " " What 
did it look like?" "Don't scare us for fun!" 
cried the girls, undecided whether to take this 
startling story in jest or earnest. 

•' Listen, and I '11 tell you all about it," an- 
swered Sally, holding up her finger impressively. 

" Night before last I sat studying till eleven. 
Against the rules I know, but I forgot ; and when I 
was through, I opened my window to air the room. 
It was bright moonlight, so I took a stroll along the 
top of the piazza, and coming back with my eyes 
on the sky I naturally saw the roof of the main 
house from my wing. I could n't have been 
asleep, could I ? yet I solemnly declare that I saw 
a white figure with a veil over its head roaming to 
and fro as quietly as a shadow. I looked and 
looked, then I called softly, but it never answered, 
and suddenly it was gone." 

"What did you do?" quavered Cordy in a 
smothered voice from under the pillow. 

" I went right in, took my lamp, and marched 
up to the cupola. But there was not a sign of any 


68 5 

one, all the doors were locked and the floor was 
dusty, for we never go there now, you know. I 
did n't like it, but I just said to myself: ' Sally, go 
to bed; it's an optical illusion and serves you right 
for studying against the rule.' That was the first 

" Mercy on us ! Did you see it again ? " cried 
Maud, getting hold of Julia's strong arm for pro- 

" Yes, in the bowling-alley at midnight," whis- 
pered Sally. 

" Do shut the door, Kit, and don't keep clutching 
at me in that scary way; it 's very unpleasant," said 
Nelly, glancing nervously over her shoulder as the 
five pairs of wide-opened eyes were fixed on Sally. 

" [ got up to shut my window last night, 
and saw a light in the alley, — a dim one, but 
bright enough to show me the same white thing 
with the veil going up and down as before. I '11 
confess I was nervous then, for you know there is 
a story that in old times the man who lived here 
would n't let his daughter marry the lover she 
wanted, and she pined away and died, and said 
she 'd haunt her cruel father, and she did. Old 
Mrs. Foster told me all about it when I first came, 
and Madame asked me not to repeat it, so I never 
did. I don't believe in ghosts, mind you ; but what 
on earth is it that I saw trailing about in that 
ridiculous way ? " 

Sally spoke nervously and looked excited, for in 
spite of courage and common sense she was wor- 
ried to account for the apparition. 

" How long did it stay ? " asked Julia, with her 
arm round Maud, who was trembling and pale. 

"A good fifteen minutes by my watch, then 
vanished, light and all, as suddenly as before. I 
did n't go to look after it that time, but if I see it 
again, I '11 hunt till I find out what it is. Who will 
go with me ? " 

No one volunteered, and Cordy emerged long 
enough to say imploringly: "Do tell Miss Orne, 
or get the police ; " and then she dived out of 
sight again and lay quaking like an ostrich with 
its head in the sand. 

" I wont ! Miss Orne would think I was a fool, 
and the police don't arrest ghosts. I '11 do it my- 
self, and Julia will help me, I know. She is the 
bravest of you, and has n't developed her biceps 
for nothing," said Sally, bent on keeping all the 
glory of the capture to themselves, if possible. 

Flattered by Sally's compliments, Julia did not 
decline the invitation, but made a very sensible 
suggestion, which was a great relief to the timid 
till Sally added a new fancy to haunt them. 

"Perhaps it is one of the servants moon-struck 
or love-lorn," said Julia. " Myra looks sentimental, 
and is always singing sentimental songs." 

"It's not Myra; I asked her, and she turned 
pale at the mere idea of going anywhere alone 
after dark, and said the cook had seen a banshee 
gliding down the garden path one night when she 
had had the face-ache and had risen to get the 
camphor. I said no more, not wanting to scare 
them ; ignorant people are so superstitious." 

Sally paused, and the girls all tried not to look 
" scared" or " superstitious," but did not succeed 
very well. 

" What are you going to do ? " asked Nelly, in 
a respectful- tone, as Julia and Sally stood side by 
side, like Horatius and Herminius waiting for a 
Spurius Lartius to join them. 

"Watch like cats or a mouse, and pounce as 
soon as possible," answered Sally. You must all 
promise to say nothing ; then we can't be laughed 
at if it turns out to be some silly accident or mis- 
take, as it probably will." 

"We promise!" solemnly answered the girls, 
feeling deeply impressed with the thrilling interest 
of the moment. 

" Very well ; now don't talk about it or think 
about it till we report, or no one will sleep a wink," 
said Sally, walking off with her ally as coolly as if, 
after frightening them out of their wits, they could 
forget the matter at word of command. 

The oath of silence was well kept, but lessons 
suffered, and so did sleep; for the excitement was 
great, especially in the morning, when the watch- 
ers reported the events of the night, and in the 
evening, when they took turns to go on guard. 
There was much whisking of dressing-gowns up 
and down the corridor of the west wing, where our 
six roomed, as the girls flew to ask questions early 
each morning or scurried to bed at night, glancing 
behind them for the banshee as they went. 

Miss Orne observed the whispers, nods, and 
eager congratulations, but said nothing, for Mad- 
ame had confided to her that the young ladies 
were planning a farewell gift for her. So she was 
blind and deaf, and smiled at the important airs of 
her girlish admirers. 

Three or four days passed, and no sign of the 
ghost appeared. The bolder openly scoffed at the 
false alarm, and the more timid began to recover 
from their fright. 

Sally and Julia looked rather foolish as they 
answered, " No news," morning after morning, to 
the inquiries which were rapidly losing the breath- 
less eagerness so flattering to the watchers. 

"You dreamed it, Sally. Go to sleep and 
don't do it again," said Nelly, on the fifth day, as 
she made her evening call and found the girls 
yawning and cross for want of rest. 

"She has exercised too much, and produced a 
morbid state of the brain," laughed Maud. 




"I just wish she would n't scare me out of my 
senses for nothing," grumbled Cordy ; " I used to 
sleep like a dormouse, and now I dream dreadfully 
and wake up tired out. Come along, Kit, and let 
the old ghosts carry off these silly creatures." 

"My regards to the 'Woman in White' when 
you see her again, dear," added Kitty, as the four 
went off to laugh at the whole thing, though they 
carefully locked their doors and took a peep out 
of the window before going to sleep. 

"We may as well give it up and have a good 
rest. I 'm worn out and so are you, if you 'd own 
it," said Julia, throwing herself down for a nap 
before midnight. 

" I shall not give it up till I 'm satisfied. Sleep 
away, I '11 read awhile and call you if anything 
comes," answered Sally, bound to prove the 
truth of her story if she waited all summer. 

Julia was soon asleep, and the lonely 
watcher sat reading till past eleven ; then 
she put out her light and went to take a turn 
on the flat roof of the piazza that ran around 
the house, for the night was mild and the 
stars companionable. As she turned to come 
back, her sharp eye caught sight of some- 
thing moving on the house-top as before, 
and soon, clear against the soft gloom of the 
sky, appeared the white figure flitting to 
and fro. 

A long look, and then Sally made a rush 
at Julia, shaking her violently as she said in 
an excited whisper: 

" Come ! she is there. Quick ! upstairs to 
the cupola ! I have the candle and the key." 

Carried away by the other's vehemence 
Julia mutely obeyed, trembling, but afraid 
to resist ; and noiseless as two shadows they 
crept up the stairs, arriving just in time to 
see the ghost vanish over the edge of the 
roof, as if it had dissolved into thin air. 
Julia dropped down in a heap, desperately 
frightened, but Sally pulled her up and led 
her back to their room, saying, when she got 
there, with grim satisfaction, " Did I dream it 
all? Now I hope they will believe me." 

" What was it ? Oh, what could it be ? " whim- 
pered Julia, quite demoralized by the spectacle. 

" I begin to believe in ghosts, for no human 
being could fly off in that way with nothing to 
walk on. 1 shall speak to Miss Orne to-morrow : 
I 've had enough of this sort of fun," said Sally, 
going to the window, with a strong desire to shut 
and lock it. 

But she paused with her hand raised, as if 
turned to stone, for as she spoke the white figure 
went slowly by. Julia dived into the closet with 
one spring. Sally, however, was on her mettle 

now, and, holding her breath, leaned out to watch. 
With soundless steps the veiled thing went along 
the roof, and paused at the further end. 

Never waiting for her comrade, Sally quietly 
stepped out and followed, leaving Julia to quake 
with fear and listen for an alarm. 

None came, and in a few minutes, that seemed 
like hours, Sally returned, looking much excited ; 
but she was sternly silent, and to all the others' 
eager questions she would only give this myste- 
rious reply : 

" I know all, but can not tell till morning. Go 
to sleep." 

Believing her friend offended at her base deser- 
tion at the crisis of the affair, Julia curbed her 


curiosity and soon forgot it in sleep. Sally slept 
also, feeling like a hero reposing after a hard-won 

She was up betimes and ready to receive her 
early visitors with an air of triumph, which silenced 
every jeer and convinced the most skeptical that 
she had something sensational to tell at last. 

When the girls had perched themselves on any 
available article of furniture, they waited with 
respectful eagerness, while Sally left the room for 
a few minutes, and Julia rolled her eyes, with her 
finger on her lips, looking as if she could tell 
much if she dared. 

Sally returned, somewhat flushed, but very sober, 



and in a few dramatic words related the adventures 
of the night up to the point when she had left Julia 
quivering ignominiously in the closet, and, like 
Horatius, had faced the foe alone. 

" I followed till the ghost entered a window," 
she said, finally. 

" Which?" demanded five awe-struck voices at 

"The last." 

" Ours? " whispered Kitty, as pale as her collar, 
while Cordy, her room-mate, sat aghast. 

" As it turned to shut the window the veil fell 
back and I saw the face." Sally spoke in a whisper 
and added, with a sudden start : " I see it, now ! " 

Each girl sprang or tumbled off her perch as if 
moved by an electric shock and stared about as 
Nelly cried wildly : 

" Where ? Oh, where ? " 

" There ! " and Sally pointed at the palest face 
in the room, while her own reddened with the 
mirth she was vainly trying to suppress. 


A general shriek of amazement and incredulity 
followed the question, while Sally could not help 
laughing heartily at the dumb dismay of the 
innocent ghost. 

As soon as she could be heard, however, she 
proceeded to explain : 

" Yes, it was Cordy walking in her sleep. She 
wore her white flannel wrapper and a cloud around 
her head, and took her exercise over the roofs at 
midnight so that no time might be lost. I don't 
wonder she is tired in the morning after these dan- 
gerous gymnastics." 

" But she could n't vanish off the house-top in 
that strange way without breaking her neck," said 
Julia, much relieved, but still mystified. 

" She did n't fly nor fall, but went down the lad- 
der left by the painters. Look at the soles of her 
felt slippers, if you doubt me, and see the red paint 
from the roof. We could n't open the cupola win- 
dow, you remember, but just now I ran out 
and looked up and saw how she did it asleep, 
though she never would dare to do it awake. 
Somnambulists do dreadfully dangerous things, 
you know," said Sally, as if her experience with 
those peculiar people had been vast and varied. 

" How could I ? It 's horrible to think of. Why 
did you let me, Kit ? " cried Cordy, uncertain 
whether to be proud or ashamed of her exploit. 

" I never dreamed of your doing such a silly 
thing, and never waked up. People say that 
sleep-walkers are always quiet. But even if I had 
seen you 1 'd have been too scared to know you. 
I '11 tie you to the bed-post after this, and not 
let you scare the whole house," answered Kitty, 
regarding it all as a fine joke. 

" What did 1 do when I got in, Sally ? " asked 
Cordy, curiously. 

" You took off your things and went to bed, as 
if glad to get back. I did n't dare to wake you, 
and so kept all the fun to myself till this morning. 
I thought I ought to have a good laugh for my 
pains since I did all the work," answered Sally in 
high glee at the success of her efforts. 

" I did wish to get as thin as I could before 1 
went home — the boys plague me so there — and I 
suppose it weighed upon my mind and set me to 
walking at night. I 'm very sorry, and I never 
will do it again if 1 can help it. Please forgive 
me, and don't tell any one but Miss Orne ; it was 
so silly," begged poor Cordy, tearfully. 

They all promised, and then joined in comfort- 
ing her, and praising Sally, and plaguing Julia; 
and so they had a delightfully noisy and exciting 
half hour before the breakfast bell rang. 

Miss Orne wondered what made the young faces 
so gay and the laughter so frequent, as mysterious 
hints and significant nods went around the table, 
but as soon as possible she was borne into the school- 
room and was made to hear the thrilling tale. 

Her interest and surprise were very flattering, 
and when the subject had been well discussed, she 
promised to prevent any further escapades of this 
sort, and advised Cordy to try the Banting method 
for the few remaining weeks of her stay. 

" I '11 try anything that will keep me from act- 
ing ghost and making every one afraid of me," 
said Cordy, secretly wondering why she had not 
broken her neck in her nocturnal gymnastics. 

" Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Orne ? " asked 
Maud, who did believe in them, in spite of the 
comic explanation of this one. 

" Not the old-fashioned sort, but there is a mod- 
ern kind that we are all afraid of, more or less," 
answered Miss Orne with a half-playful, half-serious 
look at the girls around her. 

"Do tell about it, please," begged Kitty, while 
the rest looked both surprised and interested. 

" There is one which I am very anxious to keep 
you from fearing. Women and young girls are 
especially haunted by it. 'What — will — people 
— say?' is the name of this formidable ghost. 
and it does much harm ; for few of us have 
the courage to live up to what we know to be right 
in all things. You are soon to go away to begin 
your lives in earnest, and I do hope that whatever 
I have been able to teach you about the care of 
minds and bodies will not be forgotten or neglected 
because it may not be the fashion outside our 
little world here." 

" /never will forget or be afraid of that ghost, 
Miss Orne," cried Sally, quick to understand and 
accept the warning so opportunely given. 




" I have great faith in you, dear, because you 
have provei} yourself so brave in facing phantoms 
more easily laid. But this is a hard one to meet 
and vanquish, so watch well, stand firm, and let 
these jerseys that you are so fond of cover not only 
healthy young bodies but happy hearts bent on 
your becoming sweet, wise, and useful women in 
the years to come. Dear girls, promise me this, 
and I shall feel that our winter has not been wasted 
and that our spring is full of lovely promise for a 
splendid summer." 

As she spoke, with her own beautiful face 
bright with hope and tenderness, Miss Orne 
opened her arms and gathered them all in to 
seal their promise with grateful kisses more elo- 
quent than words. 

Long after their school days were over, the six 
girls kept the white jerseys they wore at the break- 
ing-up festival as relics of the J. J. ; and long after 
they were scattered far apart, they remembered the 
lessons which helped them to be what their good 
friend hoped — healthy, happy, and useful women. 

By Mrs. M. F. Butts. 

Kino Frost comes and locks me up, 
The sunshine sets me free ; 

I frolic with the grave old trees, 
And sing right cheerilv. 

I am the blue sky's looking-glass, 
I hold the rainbow bars ; 

The moon comes down to visit me, 
And brings the little stars. 

I go to see the lady flowers, 

And make their diamond spray ; 

The birds fly down to chat with me, 
The children come to play. 

Oh, merry, merry is my life 

As a gypsy's out of Spain . 

Till grim King Frost comes from the North 
And locks me up again. 



By W. P. Hooper. 

■real In- 
dians — real, 
live Indians 
— were what 
we, like all boys, wanted 
to see, and this was why, 
after leaving the railroad 
on which we had been trav- 
eling for several days and 
nights, we found ourselves at 
last in a big canvas-covered 
wagon lumbering across the 
monotonous prairie. 

We were on our way to see 
a celebration of the Fourth 
of July at a Dakota Indian 

1 1 was late in the afternoon of a hot summer's 
day. We had been riding since early morning, and 
had not met a living creature — not even a bird or 
a snake. Only those who have experienced it know 
how wearying to the eyes it is to gaze all day 
long, and see nothing but the sky and the grass. 

However, an hour before sunset we did sec 
something. At first, it looked like a mere speck 
against the sky ; then it seemed like a bush or a 
shrub; but it rapidly increased in size as we ap- 
proached. Then, with the aid of our field-glass, we 
saw it was a man on horseback. No, not exactly 
that, either; it was an Indian chief riding an Indian 
pony. Now, I had seen Indians in the East — 
" Dime Museum Indians." I had seen the Indians 
who travel with the circus — yes, and I had seen 
the untutored savages who sell bead-work at Niagara 
Falls ; but this one was different — he was quite dif- 
ferent. I felt sure that he was a genuine Indian. 
He was unlike the Indians I had seen East. The 
most striking difference was that this one presented 
a grand unwashed effect. It must have required 
years of patient industry in avoiding the wash-bowl, 
and great good luck in dodging the passing showers, 
for him to acquire the rich effect of color which 
he displayed. Though it was one of July's hottest 
days, he had on his head an arrangement made 
of fur, with bead trimmings and four black-tipped 
feathers ; a long braid of his hair, wound with strips 
of fur, hung down in front of each ear, and strings of 
beads ornamented his neck. He wore a calico shirt, 
with tin bands on his arms above the elbow; a 
blanket was wrapped around his waist ; his leggings 
had strips of beautiful bright bead-work, and his 

moccasins were ornamented in the same style. 
But in his right hand he was holding a most mur- 
derous-looking instrument. It was a long wooden 
club, into one end of which three sharp, shining 
steel knife-blades were set. Though I had been 
complaining of the heat, still I now felt chilly as I 
looked at the weapon, and saw how well it matched 
the expression of his cruel mouth and piercing eyes. 

He passed on while we were trying to make a 
sketch of him. However, the next day, an inter- 
preter brought him around, and, for a small piece 
of tobacco, he was glad to pose while the sketch was 
being finished. We learned his name was " Can-h- 
des-ka-wan-ji-dan " (One Hoop). 

A few moments later, we passed an iron post set 
firmly into the ground. It marked one of the 

\ fl W /' - 

..■■ '.. 

v ^%;_. j .., 

^ v. 



boundaries of the Indian Reservation. We were 
now on a tract of land set aside by the United 
States Government as the living-ground of sixteen 
hundred " Santee " Sioux Indians. We soon saw 
more Indians, who, like us. seemed to be moving 
toward the little village at the Indian Agencv. 




Each group had put their belongings into a As we neared the Agency buildings, we passed 

big bundle, and strapped it upon long poles, many Indians who had settled for the night. They 

which were fastened atone end to the back of a chose the wooded ravines, near streams, by which to 

pony. In this bundle, the little pappooses rode in put up their tents, or " tepees," which consisted of 

f S 



great com- 
fort, looking 
like blackbirds peering 
from a nest. In some cases, an older 
child would be riding in great glee 
on the pony's back among the poles. 
The family baggage seemed about 
equally distributed between the pony and 
v the squaw who led him. She was pre- 
ceded by her lord and master, the noble red In- 
dian, who carried no load except his long pipe. 

The next thing of interest was 
what is called a Red River wag- 
on. It was simply a cart with two 
large wheels, the whole vehi 
cle made of wood. As 
the axles 
are never 
oiled, the 
Red River 
carry - all 
keeps up a 
most terri- 
ble squeak- 

ong poles covered with patched and smoke-stained 
canvas, with two openings, one at the top for a 
" smoke-hole " and the other for a door, through 
which any one must crawl in order to enter the 
domestic circle of the gentle savage. We entered 
several tepees, making ourselves welcome by gifts 
of tobacco to every member of the family. That 
night, after reaching the Agency and retiring to 
our beds, we dreamed of smoking great big pipes, 
with stems a mile long, which were passed to us 
by horrible-looking black witches. But morning 
came at last, — and suck a morning ! 

That Fourth of July morning I shall 
never forget. We were awakened by the 
most blood curdling yells that ever pierced 
the ears of three white boys. It was the 
Indian war-whoop. I found myself in- 
stinctively feel- 
hair, and re- 
gretting the 
distance to the 
railroad. We 
lingered in- 



ing. This charming music-box was drawn by one doors in a rather terrified condition, until we found 

ox, and contained an Indian, who was driving out that this was simply the beginning of the day's 

with a whip. His wife and children were seated celebration. It was the "sham-fight"; but it looked 

on the bottom of this jolting and shrieking cart, real enough, when the Indians came tearing by. 



their ponies seeming to enter into the 
excitement as thoroughly as their 
riders. There were some five hun- 
dred, in full frills and war-paint, 
and all giving those terrible yells. 

Their costumes were simple, but 
gay in color — paint, feathers, and 
more paint, with an occasional shirt. 

For weapons, they carried guns, 
rifles, and long spears. Bows and 
arrows seemed to be out of style. 
A few had round shields on their left 

Most of the tepees had been col- 
lected together and pitched so as to 
form a large circle, and their wagons 
were placed outside this circle so as 
to make a sort of protection for the 
defending party. The attacking 
party, brandishing their weapons in 
the air with increased yells, rushed 
their excited and panting ponies up 
the slope toward the tepees, where 
they were met by a rapid discharge 
of blank cartridges and powder. 
Some of the ponies became fright- 
ened and unmanageable, several 
riders were unhorsed, and general 
confusion prevailed. The entrenched 
party, in the meantime, rushed out 
from behind their defenses, climbing 
on top of their wagons, yelling and 
dancing around like demons. Ad- 
ded to this, the sight of several rider- 



1 '!;^v;<> S : ~*~~~~ : : "~SS* 

r 1 /'"■ f rl V I •f*?l?/,& * 

1 ""r 

'!:•• *.%.•■/•'■ '- 





less ponies flying wildly from the tumult made this 
sham-fight have a terribly realistic look. 

After this excite- 
ment was over, the 
regular games which 
had been arranged 
for the day began. 

[n the foot-races, 

the costumes were so 

slight that there 

was nothing to 

describe — sim- 




ply paint in fancy patterns, moccasins, and 
a girdle of red flannel. But how they could 

run ! I did not suppose anything on two legs 
could go so fast. The la crosse costumes 
were bright and attractive. The leader 
of one side wore a shirt of soft, tanned 
buckskin, bead-work and embroidery 
on the front, long fringe on the shoul- 
ders, bands around the arms, and 
deep fringe on the bottom of the skirt. 
The legs 
were bare 
to the knee, and 
from there down 
to the toes was 
one mass 
of fine 

The grounds extended about a mile in length. 
The ball was the size of a common base-ball, and 
felt almost as solid as a rock, the center being 
of lead. The shape of the Indian la crosse stick 
is shown in the sketch. 

Then came games on horseback. But the most 
interesting performance of the whole day, and one 
in which they all manifested an absorbing interest, 
was — - the dinner. 

At 3 A. M. several oxen had been butchered, and 
from that time till the dinner was served all the 
old squaws had their hands full. Fires were made 
in long lines, poles placed over them, and high 
black pots, kettles, and zinc pails filled with a 
combination of things, including beef and water, 
were suspended there, and carefully tend- 
ed by ancient Indian ladies in pict- 
v uresque, witch-like costumes, who 
gently stirred the boiling bouillon 
with pieces of wood, while other 
seemingly more ancient and worn- 
out-looking squaws brought great 
bundles of wood from the ra- 
vines, tied up in blankets and 
*fl swung over their shoulders. 
Think of a dinner for 
sixteen hundred noble 
chiefs and braves, stal- 
wart head-men, young 
bucks, old squaws, girls, 
and children ! And such 
queer-looking children 
some dressed in full 
war costume, some in 
the most approved 




glittering bead-work. In 
the game, there were a 
hundred Indians engaged on each side. The game 
was long, but exciting, being skillfully played. 

ttle boy, 
whose name was 
Sh a-ke-to-pa 
(Four Nails), had 
five feathers — big ones, too— in his hair. His face 
was painted ; he wore great round ear-rings, and 
rows of beads and claws around his neck ; bands 
of beads on his little bare brown arms ; embroid- 


6 9i 

tifully and repeatedly helped, the women and children, 

who had been patiently waiting, were allowed to 

gather about the fragments and half-empty pots 

and finish the repast, which they did with 

neatness and dispatch. 

Then the warriors lay around and smoked 
their long-stem pipes, while the young men 
prepared for the pony races. 

The first of these races was "open to all," 

and more than a hundred ponies and their 

S <' riders were arranged in a row. Some of the 

ponies were very spirited, and seemed to fully 

realize what was going to take place, and they 

would persist in pushing ahead of the line. 

Then the other riders would start their ponies ; 

then the whole line would 

have to be re-formed. But 

finally, they were all started, 

and such shouting, andsuch 

waving of whips in the 

-and how the 

ered leggings and beautiful moccasins, 
and a long piece of red cloth hang- 
ing from his waist. In fact, he was 
as gaily dress- 
ed as a grown- 
up Indian man, 
and he had a 
cunning little 
war-club, all 
and painted. 
When the dinner was 
nearly ready, the men 
began to seat them- 
selves in a long curved 
line. Behind them, the 
women and children 
were gathered. When 
everything was ready, 
a chief, wearing a long 
arrangement of feath- 
ers hanging from his 
back hair and several 
bead pouches across 
his shoulders, with a 
long staff in his left 
hand, walked into the 
center of the circle. 
Taking a spoonful ot 
the soup, he held it 

high in the air, and then, turning slowly around, little ponies did jump ! When the race was over, 
chanting a song, he poured the contents of the how we all crowded around the winner, and how 


spoon upon the ground. This, an inter- 
preter explained to us, was done to ap- 
pease the spirits of the air. After 
this, the old squaws limped 



proud the pony, as well as the 
rider, seemed to feel ! Now 
we had a better chance 
to examine the ponies than 
ever before, and 
some were very 

nimbly around with the pails of soup and 
food, serving the men. After they were all 

such prices! Think of buying a beautiful three- 
year-old cream-colored pony for twenty dollars ! 

6 9 4 



But as the hour of sunset approached, the inter- 
est in the races vanished, and so did most of the 
braves. They sought the seclusion of their bow- 
ers, to adorn themselves for the grand "grass 
dance," which was to begin at sunset. 

What a contrast between their every-day dress 
and their dancing costumes ! The former consists 
of a blanket more or less tattered and torn, while 
the gorgeousness of the latter discourages a descrip- 
tion in words ; so I refer you to the pictures. Of 
course, we were eager to purchase some of the 
Indian finery, but it was a bad time to trade suc- 
cessfully with the Indians. They were too much 
taken up with the pleasures of the day to care to 
turn an honest penny by parting with any of their 
ornaments. However, we succeeded in buying a 
big war-club set with knives, some pipes with 
carved stems a yard long, a few knife-sheaths and 
pouches glittering with beads, and several pairs of 
beautiful moccasins, — most of which now adorn a 
New York studio. 

Soon the highly decorated red men silently 
assembled inside a large space inclosed by bushes 
stuck into the ground. This was their dance-hall. 
The squaws were again shut out, as, according to 
Santee Sioux custom, they are not allowed to join 
in the dances with the men. The Indians, as 
they came in, sat quietly down around the sides .i^jfc-iS*. 
of the inclos- ^^s>-j^/ 

ure. The mu- 
sicians were 

man's ear, was rather depressing, but it seemed 
very pleasing to the Indians. 

The ball was opened by an old chief, 
ho, rising slowly, beckoned the others 
follow him. In his right hand the 
leader carried a wooden gun, orna- 
mented with eagles' feath- 
ers ; in the left he held a 
short stick, with bells at- 
tached to it. He wore a 
cap of otter skin, from 
which hung a long train. 
His face was carefully 
painted in stripes of 
blue and yellow. 

At first, they all 
moved slowly, jump- 
ing twice on each 
foot ; then, as the 
musicians struck up 
a more lively pound- 
ing and a more in- 
spiring song, the 
dancers moved with 
more rapidity, giv- 
ing an occasional 
shout and waving 
their arms in the air. 
As they grew warmer 
and more excited, 
the musicians re- 


— gathered around doubled their exer- 

a big drum, on tions on the drum 

which they pounded and changed their singing into prolonged howls ; 

with short sticks, while they sang a sort of wild, then one of them, dropping his drum-sticks, sprang 

weird chant. The effect, to an uneducated white to his feet, and, waving his hands over his head, he 



yelled till he was breathless, urging on the dan- 
cers. This seemed to be the finishing touch. The 
orchestra and dancers seemed to vie with each 
other as to who should make the greater noise. 
Their yells were deafening, and, brandishing their 
knives and tomahawks, they sprang around with 
wonderful agility. Of course, this intense excite- 
ment could last but a short time ; the voices of the 
musicians began to fail, and, finally, with one last 
grand effort, they all gave a terrible shout, and 
then all was silence. The dancers crawled back 
to their places around the inclosure, and sank ex- 
hausted on the grass. But soon some supple brave 
regained enough strength to rise. The musicians 
slowly recommenced, other dancers came forward, 

and the "mad dance" was again in full blast. 
And thus the revels went on, hour after hour, 
all night, and continued even through the fol- 
lowing day. But there was a curious fascination 
about it, and, tired as we were after the long day, 
we stood there looking on hour after hour. Finally, 
after midnight had passed, we gathered our Indian 
purchases about us, including two beautiful ponies, 
and began our return trip toward the railroad and 
civilization. But the monotonous sound of the Indian 
drum followed us mile after mile over the prairie ; 
in fact, it followed us much better than my new 
spotted pony. 

My arm aches now, as I remember how that 
pony hung back. 


From an Algonquin Indian Story.* 

By Charles G. Leland. 

I 'M going to the garden 
Where summer roses blow ; 
I '11 make me a little sister 
Of all the flowers that grow ; 

I '11 make her body of lilies, 
Because they 're soft and white ; 
I '11 make her eyes of violets, 
With dew-drops shining bright ; 

I '11 make her lips of rose-buds, 
Her cheeks of rose-leaves red, 

Her hair of silky corn-tops 
All braided 'round her head ; 

With apple-tree and pear leaves 
I '11 make her a lovely gown, 
With rows of golden buttercups 
For buttons, up and down. 

I '11 dance with my little sister 
Away to the river strand. 
Away across the water, — 
Away into Fairy-land. 

:ral of the Algonquin tribes have a legend of a girl who was made entirely of flowers 




By Celia Thaxter. 

The children came scampering down the lane,- 
" Mamma ! Gold-Robin 's come back again ! 
Of all the elm trees he likes ours best, — 
Look, Mamma, look ! he is mending his nest ! 

They pulled mamma to the open door, 
'" O yes," she said, "but 1 saw him before; 
The very moment the beauty came, 
I saw him flit like a living flame 

Hither and yon through the green leaves gay, 
Till he seemed to add a light to the day ; 

And my very heart rejoiced to hear 
His fairy bugling so deep and clear. 

" There 's his pretty mate. See ! Up in the tree. 
A soberer dress and cap wears she. 
They 've been at work here the whole day long, 
Except when he stopped just to sing her a song. 

" What a piece of good fortune it is, that they 
Come faithfully back to us every May ! 
No matter how far in the winter they roam, 
They are sure to return to their summer home." 

i88 4 . 



The little ones capered and laughed aloud. 
Of such a neighbor who would n't be proud ? 
See, how like a splendid king he is dressed, 
In velvet black with a golden vest ! 

What money could buy such a suit as this ? 
What music can match that voice of his? 
And who such a quaint little house could build, 
To be with a beautiful family filled ? 

< ) happy winds that shall rock them soft 
In their swinging cradle hung high aloft ! 
O happy leaves that the nest shall screen ! — 
And happy sunbeams that steal between ! 

O happy stars of the summer night, 

That watch o'er that delicate home's delight, — 

And happy and fortunate children we, 

Such music to hear and such beauty to see ! 


By W. W. Crannell. 

In the early part of the year 1777, the leaders 
of the Revolution found themselves faced by new 
and very perplexing embarrassments. It was re- 
ported that General Burgoyne had arrived at 
Quebec, purposing to advance from the North with 
a strong support ; hearing which, General Schuy- 
ler, fearful that the enemy might capture Ticon- 
deroga and then force their way to Albany, 
strenuously called for reinforcements and supplies. 
It was also reported that the British were active in 
and around New York, having received large re- 
enforcements composed partly of German mer- 
cenaries. Early in June, Sir William Howe left 
his head- quarters in New York, crossed the river 
into New Jersey, and established himself at New 

In the Continental Army, the terms of service of 
many of the men who had enlisted for a year or 
less were expiring ; and they, anxious to be re- 
leased from the severe duties of soldier-life, were 
returning to their homes. Men were wanted to fill 
up the ranks thus depleted, and the several States 
were uiged to furnish the recruits. General Knox 
wrote, " Nothing but the united efforts of every 
State in America can save us from disgrace and 
probably from ruin." To this appeal no State 
responded more readily than Connecticut ; and 
when the great struggle was over, Washington 
wrote, "If all the States had done their dutv as 
well as the little State of Connecticut, the war 
would have been ended long ago." 

It was during these disheartening times, or, to 
be exact, on the twentieth day of June, 1777, that 
Richard Lord Jones, a boy who had but just passed 
his tenth birthday, fired by the same spirit of patriot- 
ism that animated the breasts of the lusty farmers 
of that day, offered himself as a volunteer to serve 
in the ranks for his oppressed country. 

Richard was born at Colchester, Conn., on the 

Vol. XT. — 45. 

fifteenth day of May, 1767. He enlisted at Hart- 
ford, for the term of three years, in Captain James 
Watson's company of the Third Connecticut Regi- 
ment, commanded by Colonel Samuel B. Webb, 
the father of the venerable General James Watson 
Webb, and was the youngest enlisted person on the 
pay-roll of the Army of the Revolution. He was im- 
mediately placed under the charge of Band- 
master Ballentine, and instructed to play the fife. 
In a short time, he showed so much proficiency 
that he was deemed one of the best fifers in the 

About two months after Richard's enlistment, 
he was sent to the regiment, at White Plains. After 
remaining there a short time he, with the regi- 
ment, went on up the Hudson to Peekskill, the head- 
quarters of General Putnam, whose command em- 
braced the fortified posts in the Highlands on both 
sides of the river. On the sixth day of October, 
1777, Forts Clinton and Montgomery, situated on 
the west side of the river, were captured by the 
enemy under Sir Henry Clinton. Putnam with 
his troops on the east side, unable to render 
timely assistance, after being under arms all 
night, started early in the morning and retreated 
up the Hudson, our young soldier breakfasting, be- 
fore the start, on a hard biscuit and a slice of raw 
pork. When opposite New Windsor, Putnam de- 
tached one division of his forces under Governor 
George Clinton, which crossed the river ; while he, 
with the other, continued up the east side to protect 
the country from the ravages of the enemy, who had 
removed the obstructions in the Hudson and were on 
their way up the river. Dick, as he was familiarly 
called, vent with the troops under Governor Clin- 
ton, who continued the march until within sight of 
Kingston, which was found in flames, having been 
fired by the enemy under General Vaughn, who 
had preceded Clinton by a few hours. 

6 9 8 



During a halt on the way, the arrest of the 
British spy, Daniel Taylor, was made. From Dick's 
statement it appears that Sergeant Williams, of 
Colonel Webb's regiment, and another soldier, 
strolled away from the camp a short distance, and 
fell in with two men, one of whom questioned the 
sergeant as to who was in command. Upon the 
sergeant's answering " Clinton," the stranger said 
that he would like to see him ; whereupon Williams 
conducted him to Governor Clinton's quarters. 
On being presented to the Governor, the stranger 
appeared confused, and said that this was not the 
man he wished to see. He then swallowed has- 
tily something which he put into his mouth. This 
act immediately excited the suspicions of the Gov- 
ernor, who called for a physician and had an emetic 
administered which brought forth a small silver 
bullet. Upon its being opened, a note was revealed 
intended for the British general, Burgoyne, and 
written by Sir Henry Clinton. It contained the 
information that " nothing but Gates was between 
them." (General Gates was then in command of 
the American forces farther up the Hudson). The 
man who was captured supposed that he was in 
the British camp, as Colonel Webb's regiment 
wore a uniform similar to that worn by the Brit- 
ish army ; and he was also deceived by hearing 
the name " Clinton," believing it to be Sir Henry, 
Commander of the British forces, instead of 
Governor George Clinton, who was in command 
of the Americans. Taylor was condemned as a 
spy and executed. 

At Hurley, a small village west of Kingston, the 
regiment remained about two weeks. There the 
news was received of the surrender of General 
Burgoyne to General Gates, and also of the retreat 
of the British on the Hudson to New York. The 
regiment was then ordered to Norwalk, Conn., and 
was soon after engaged in an enterprise, planned 
by General Putnam, having in view the destruc- 
tion of a large quantity of lumber on the east end 
of Long Island, which was being prepared by the 
enemy for their barracks in New York. General 
Samuel M. Parsons was entrusted with the execu- 
tion of the enterprise, aided by Colonel Webb, 
who was to land near Huntington. Parsons suc- 
ceeded in destroying the lumber and one of the 
enemy's vessels, and returned safely with his entire 
party unhurt and twenty of the enemy prisoners ; 
but Colonel Webb was not so fortunate, he having 
encountered in his passage the British sloop of 
war " Falcon." Being in a common transport with- 
out guns, he could not offer battle or attempt a 
defense ; so he was obliged to steer for a creek on 
Long Island. He reached it, but missing the 
channel, the vessel struck on a bar at its mouth. 
Colonel Webb and the captain of the vessel then 

took to the small boat on the windward side, and 
Dick was called for by the colonel, with whom he 
was a great favorite ; but a stout soldier had already 
taken him in his arms and was clambering over 
the side of the sloop, when the small boat upset. The 
surf was running high, but Colonel Webb caught a 
rope on the lee side, and regained a footing on board 
the vessel again. The captain swam the creek 
and was rescued by some people on shore. 

In the meantime the "Falcon "had anchored 
and begun firing, and as there was no chance to 
escape, the colors were struck and the enemy took 
possession. When the tide permitted, the sloop 
was floated off and taken to Newport, R. I., with 
the colonel, four officers, twenty privates of his 
regiment, and forty militia, all picked men. 

Upon the arrival of the prisoners at Newport, 
they were taken before a British officer for exami- 
nation. The colonel being called forward was fol- 
lowed by Dick, who was anxious to learn what his 
own fate was to be. The British officer noticing 
the little fellow at the heels of his colonel, sternly 
inquired : 

" Who are you ? " 

" 1 am one of King Hancock's men," answered 
Dick, straightening himself proudly. 

" What can you do for him ? " asked the officer, 
with a smile, and so strong an emphasis on the 
" you " that Dick answered defiantly : 

" I can fight for him." 

" Can you fight one of King George's men ? " 

"Yes, sir," answered Dick promptly, and then 
added, after a little hesitation, " if he is not much 
bigger than I." 

The officer called forward the boatswain's boy, 
who had been curiously looking on ; then turning 
to the young continental, asked : 

" Dare you fight him ? " 

Dick gave the Briton, who was considerably 
larger than he, a hasty survey, and then answered: 

" Yes, sir." 

" Then strip," said the officer, and turning to 
the British lad, "strip, and do battle for King 

Both boys divested themselves of all superfluous 
clothing as rapidly as possible, and went to work 
at once, and in dire earnest. It was a "rough and 
tumble" fight; first one was on top and then the 
other, cheered in turn by cries of, " Give it to him, 
King Hancock ! " and " Hurrah for King George ! " 

It was a memorable encounter for both contest- 
ants, but at last the courageous little rebel got 
the better of his adversary. The young Briton 
shouted " enough," and was rescued from the 
embrace of his furious antagonist. 

With a generosity natural to great minds, but 
seldom displayed during the War of Independence, 

i88 4 .; 



the British officer ordered the discharge of our 
young hero, for his pluck, and he was set at 
liberty. About the same time, Colonel Webb 
was released on parole, and in company they left 
on a small sloop for Providence, where horses were 
procured on which they continued their journey to 
Norwich. At this place they found Major Eben- 
ezer Huntington, of their regiment, at the house 
of his father. They journeyed on through Weth- 
ersfield, and in less than a week Dick arrived 


at his father's house in Hartford. After remain- 
ing at home a short time, he rejoined his regiment 
at West Point, which, owing to the loss of Forts 
Clinton and Montgomery, the military authorities 
had decided to fortify. Huts were built in the 
upper edge of the bank, just below the point, 
and here the winter of 1 777 was passed. Early in the 
spring of 1778. the regiment, under Kosciusko, built 
Fort Webb, which formed a portion of the works 
at that stronghold. A chain was stretched across 
the river above the point, and a battery built at 
each end, while Fort Clinton, situated on the 
point, commanded the river. 

In the early summer, the regiment was sent to 
Providence, and thence to Tiverton, where it re- 
mained for a short time. General Sullivan was in 
command of the troops in Rhode Island at this 
time, and our young hero was in all the engage- 
ments on the island that had in view the recap- 
ture of Newport, and which were unsuccessful in 
consequence of the failure of the French fleet 
under Count D'Estaing to cooperate with the con- 
tinental forces. 

The regiment wintered that year at Warren, 
in the vicinity of Newport. In the spring of 1779, 
the regiment was inspected by Baron Steuben. 
During this period the men were mustered every 
morning for exercise. As Dick was sometimes 
late on parade, the fife-major threatened to send 
a file of men for him on the next occasion of his 
tardiness ; and one morning, in accordance with 
this threat, a corporal with a file of men escorted 
him to the parade, amidst the merriment of the 
soldiers, who hugely enjoyed 
seeing three men escort the 
little lad to the parade ground. 
At Warren the regiment re- 
mained until the British evac- 
uated Rhode Island, on the 
twenty- fifth day of October, 
1779, when it was marched 
to the island by way of Bristol. 
About two weeks were spent at 
Newport, when it was ordered 
westward. Passing through 
Greenwich, Hartford, and New 
Haven, it crossed the Hudson 
River at Dobb's Ferry, and 
brought up on the heights of 
Morristown, N. J., the head- 
quarters of General Washing- 
ton. The entire march of 
about two hundred miles, over 
rough and frozen ground, was 
made by Dick with bare feet. 
Soon after reaching Morris- 
town, the regiment commenced 
building huts, which were first occupied on the 
twelfth day of January, 1780. 

The winter at Morristown was one of unusual 
severity, and aggravated the sufferings of the 
army, which, for want of clothingand the necessities 
of life, endured as much distress as was experi- 
enced the previous winter at Valley Forge. For 
days the arm)- was without meat, and for weeks it 
subsisted on half rations. In January, Washington 
wrote: " For a fortnight past the troops, both of- 
ficers and men. have been almost famishing." 
But with spring came encouragement and hope ; 
for Lafayette had returned from France with prom- 
ises of renewed support. 

A review by General Washington and his staff be- 
ing anticipated, the officers of Colonel Webb's regi- 
ment cut up their shirts into pieces the size of a collar, 
and gave one piece to each soldier. At that time, 
not a private soldier in the regiment had a shirt to his 
back. The men made an appearance on that occa- 
sion that was both ludicrous and pathetic, but they 
accepted with a proper pride the enthusiastic and ap- 
propriate comments on their display of shirt collars. 





Our hero, Dick, having a good voice, and being a 
favorite among both officers and men, was brought 
into prominence on several occasions, and it was at a 
dinner party given in the month of May by Colonel 
Webb to General Washington and staff, that the 
most interesting incident in his army life occurred. 

The colonel sent for him, and, after handing him 
a small silver cup filled with wine, requested him to 
sing a song. Dick drank the unfamiliar beverage 
as if it were water, the result of which caused so 
strangling a sensation, that immediate compliance 
with the request was impossible. Upon Colonel 
Webb's suggestion, he marched up and down the 
room until the effect had passed away, and then 
in his clear, boyish voice sang a patriotic song. 

After the applause that followed the song had 
subsided, the colonel directed Dick to go to 
Colonel Jackson's hut. where Mrs. Washington and 
other ladies were, and to tell Mrs. Washington 
that Colonel Webb had sent him to sing her a 
song. Dick obeyed orders, and at the conclusion 
of his song received from Mrs. Washington, in 
acknowledgment of her thanks, a three-dollar Con- 
tinental bill. This bill was sacredly kept by Dick 
until the day of his death, in loving remembrance 
of the noble woman who gave it to him. It is now 
the property of Major Richard Lord Annesley, of 
Albany, N. Y., a grandson of the youthful patriot. 
An engraving of one side of this bill is here pre- 
sented. The following certificate concerning it was 
written by the recipient of the bill, more than seventy 
years after the date. of its presentation to him : 

" The bill of three dollars, accompanying this, is a sample of the 
currency of the United States during the War of the Revolution. 
This bill was presented to R. L. Jones (the subscriber) by Mrs. 
Martha Washington, at Colonel Jackson's hut, on the heights of 
Morristown, New Jersey, in May, 1780 — immediately after the 
extreme hard winter, when Col. S. B. Webb's Regiment, to which 
he was attached, struck their tents and took possession of their huts, 
January 12th, — snow two or three feet deep. He was then, when 
the bill was received, just thirteen years of age, and just at the end 
of his term of enlistment of three years, — supposed to be the 
youngest person on the pay-roll of the army. 

"Richard L. Jones. 

" New Albany, Indiana, October 12th, 1850." 

After the singing of the song, the officers joined 
the ladies and started for a walk. When about 
half-way down a long hill, they seated themselves 
on some fallen trees, and Dick was again requested 
to sing. Upon the completion of the song, they 
arose, and an officer, accompanied by a lady, 
beckoned Dick with one hand, while he placed the 
other behind his back, from the open palm of 
which Dick took three English shillings. The 
officer was General Lafayette, who but a few days 
before had returned from France. 

A short time afterward, the regiment left the 
huts, and was marched toward Springfield, where 
it was engaged in the action with the enemv under 

General Knyphausen, en June 23. Prior to the 
battle, on June 20, Dick's term of three years 
expired, and he was honorably discharged. In 
company with two men of his regiment, whose 
terms had also expired, he started for home, walk- 
ing the entire distance of nearly two hundred miles. 


How pleasant were his anticipations of re-union 
with loved ones, as he bravely plodded along the 
highway and across fields until he reached his 
father's home in Hartford ! 

At home ! All the long, cold winters of cruel 
want lay behind, and before him rose the future, 
bright with anticipations of prosperity and peace. 
But the soldier-life of the boy became one of the 
brightest memories to the old man, and, in his 
last years, his greatest pleasure consisted in re- 
counting the incidents connected with the days of 
his soldierhood to a willing listener. After reach- 
ing manhood, he engaged in the cotton-manufac- 
turing business in his native State, which he 
carried on successfully for a while ; but the times 
and he were out of joint. The war of 1812 
brought him financial ruin. In the year 1818, he 
moved west and settled at Gallipolis, Ohio. He 
aftenvard became a farmer near New Albany, 
Indiana, where he resided many years and where 
he died July 23, 1852. 

1884. 1 




By Martha Holmes Bates. 

LMOST all of my girl and boy friends 
are fond of good books ; but I 
have noticed that many of them, 
when they have read a volume 
through to the period at the end, 
toss it quickly aside, and with- 
out giving a second thought to 
the contents of its pages, hasten 
away in search of some new enter- 
tainment or occupation. 

Now, I want to give a bit of 

advice on this subject of reading, 

which I hope every reader of St. 

Nicholas will follow, for a few 

weeks at least, so as to give my suggestion a fair 


You all, of course, wish and intend to become 
intelligent and well-informed men and women ; it 
is for this end that we all learn to read in the be- 
ginning : in order, however, to succeed in our 
ambition, we must not only know how to read, but 
how to make use of what we read. And some 
knowledge of the nature of our minds is a great 
assistance in learning this important lesson. The 
writings of all the learned men in the world could 
not make us wise if our mental faculties were not 
first trained to think, reason, and remember. 

So here is my advice : After reading a book, or 
an article, or an item of information from any re- 
liable source, before turning your attention to other 
things, give two or three minutes' quiet thought to 

the subject that has just been presented to your 
mind ; see how much you can remember concern- 
ing it ; and if there were any new ideas, instruc- 
tive facts, or points of especial interest that im- 
pressed you as you read, force yourself to recall 
them. It may be a little troublesome at first until 
your mind gets under control and learns to obey 
your will, but the very effort to think it all out will 
engrave the facts deeply upon the memory, so 
deeply that they will not be effaced by the rushing 
in of a new and different set of ideas ; whereas, if 
the matter be given no further consideration at all, 
the impressions you have received will fade away 
so entirely that within a few weeks you will be 
totally unable to remember more than a dim out- 
line of them. 

Form the good habit, then, of always reviewing 
what has just been read. It exercises and dis- 
ciplines the mental faculties, strengthens the 
memory, and teaches concentration of thought. 

You will soon learn, in this way. to think and 
reason intelligently, to separate and classify different 
kinds of information ; and in time the mind, instead 
of being a lumber-room in which the various con- 
tents are thrown together in careless confusion and 
disorder, will become a store-house where each 
special class or item of knowledge, neatly labeled, 
has its own particular place and is ready for use 
the instant there is need of it. 

Now, shut your eyes, and see if you can remem- 
ber my advice. 



A MAN who kept a store 
Once wrote upon his door : 

Oh, I can make a pill 
That shall ease ev'ry ill ! 
I keep here a plaster, 
To prevent disaster ; 
Also some good ointment. 
To soothe disappointment.' 

When customers applied, 
These words are what he cried: 

• Now. Patience is the pill 
That eases ev'ry ill : 
Take-care is a plaster. 
Which prevents disaster; 
Good-liumer an ointment. 
Soothing disappointment." 





By Maurice Thompson. 

Chapter VIII. 


Next morning the sky was bright and clear. 
The sun soon dried the grass, and the boys were 
eager to be off after the game. 

Uncle Charley and Mr. Marvin had arranged 
for a hunt in a stretch of weed prairie lying about 
a mile and a half west of the camp. One side of 
this field was bordered by a luxuriant corn planta- 
tion, another side by a wheat field. 

Neil and Hugh, armed with the small-bore guns 
belonging to Uncle Charley and Mr. Marvin, 
stepped proudly and briskly along, listening to the 
words of advice and caution which those kind gen- 
tlemen were speaking for their benefit. 

It was a beautiful sight to see the four dogs 
ranging at a brisk gallop, each ambitious to scent 
the first bird. Snip took the prize before reach- 
ing the weedy part of the prairie, by coming to a 
stanch stand on a high knoll where the grass was 
very short and thin. In a moment the three other 
dogs had backed him. " Surely there are no birds 
there," said Neil; " we could see them; there's 
nothing to hide them." 

Hugh had nervously brought his gun to the po- 
sition of " ready." He was suffering from what is 
called hunter's fever ; his eagerness to get a shot 
had overcome his nerves. 

They all moved on in a row, keeping about ten 
paces apart, Mr. Marvin at one end, Uncle Charley 
at the other, and the boys in the middle ; every 
dog stood as rigid as a post. 

A few more steps, and up rose a scattered flock 
of lairds — grouse, scarcely old enough to fly with 
full power, but in excellent plight for market. 
Uncle Charley fired right and left, bringing down 
two ; Mr. Marvin did the same. Neil killed a bird 
at his second shot, but Hugh blazed away some- 
what at random and did not touch a feather. 

"Mark where they pitch down," exclaimed Mr. 
Marvin ; " they 're fine birds — just old enough to 
suit the epicures." He was a little excited, too; 
but he was quite deliberate, nevertheless. 

At last the birds, rounding a little in their 
course, settled into the weeds. 

"Where's your game, Hugh?" said Uncle 
Charley, as the dogs brought in the dead grouse. 

" 1 think I missed," murmured Hugh. 

" Better luck next time," remarked Mr. Marvin, 
in a tone of encouragement. They all reloaded 
their guns and started on at a brisk pace. 

Presently they reached a fence that stood be- 
tween them and the weed field. Mr. Marvin halted 
and took the shells out of his gun. 

" What are you unloading for?" asked Hugh. 

" I never climb over a fence with a loaded gun 
in my hands," said Mr. Marvin; "a large number 
of the dreadful hunting accidents are caused by 
not observing this simple rule." 

Hugh took out his shells, too, and by a side 
glance saw Uncle Charley and Neil do likewise. 

" One of my best friends was killed by falling off 
a fence with a loaded gun in his hand," Mr. Mar- 
vin added. " One can never be too careful." 

The weed covert into which the game had gone 
proved to be troublesome. The rich soil of the 
prairie had sent up such a tall growth that Hugh 
and Neil would have been lost in it, so they had 
to stay on the edges of the thickest part while 
Mr. Marvin and Uncle Charley went in with the 
dogs and flushed the grouse. Soon a lively firing 

The boys banged away at every bird that came 
near them. Neil was beginning to show some 
skill, fetching down his game quite often and in 
good style ; but Hugh could not be patient and 
painstaking enough. 

The birds that escaped the guns went over into 
the wheat-stubble and, scattering widely, offered a 
chance for some good sport. Hugh took Snip and 

* Copyright, 1SS3, by Maurice Thompson. 



went to where he had marked down three of them. 
The dog soon pointed one in a place where, owing 
to some thick weeds, the wheat had been left 
uncut. Hugh stopped for a minute to try to 
steady himself, and then went slowly on, glancing 
rapidly in every direction, for he did not know 
just at what point the game would rise. Now, a 
good sportsman never allows his eyes to wander at 
such a time, but keeps them fixed steadily to the 
front ; in that way he can see a bird rise anywhere 
within the space covered by even the dimmest part 
of his vision. Then, too, he trusts to his ears to 
warn him of the first flutter of a wing in the covert. 

Hugh felt his heart beating rapidly, but he 
kept himself fairly steady until he flushed the 
bird. Then his gun flew up too quickly, and 
he did n't wait to take aim. Of course he missed, 
but he quickly recovered himself and did better 
with the left barrel, bringing down the game. Snip 
retrieved the bird and was fetching it in, when sud- 
denly he stopped and pointed with the game in 
his mouth. This was a very rare exhibition of scent- 
ing power. Hugh flushed the bird from the stub- 
ble and weeds. It rose almost vertically and flew 
right over his head in the direction toward which 
his back was turned. The shot was a difficult one at 
best, but Hugh turned quickly and pulled first the 
right-hand trigger, then the left-hand one. The 
gun failed to fire. He looked, and found that he 
had forgotten to reload ! Snip seemed disap- 
pointed. His eyes turned inquiringlv toward 
Hugh's face, as if to say: " That was a poor re- 
sponse to my splendid performance ! " Hugh ac- 
knowledged to himself that here was another result 
of his impetuosity and carelessness. 

" I shall learn something after a while, if I keep 
on trying," he thought, as he opened the breech of 
his gun and slipped in the shells. 

Meantime, Neil had been having some fine luck. 
His coolness and carefulness excited the admiration 
of Uncle Charley and Mr. Marvin. In fact, he hit 
nearly as often as he missed, and when the shoot- 
ing was over, his game-bag held seven birds. 

Chapter IX. 


A FEW more days spent on the prairie in de- 
lightful tramps and instructive conversation with 
Mr. Marvin, and the hunt was ended. Uncle 
Charley declared the time up, and gave orders to 
have the tents struck and the wagons made ready 
for the return to the village. 

Before separating, however, Mr. Marvin and 
Uncle Charley held a long consultation, the re- 
sult of which was an arrangement for a winter's 

campaign in the finest game regions of Georgia 
and Florida. 

Uncle Charley promised Neil and Hugh that he 
would try to get their father to let them go along 
with him. 

" If he will let you go," continued Uncle 
Charley, " I will buy you each a good gun and 
a complete outfit." 

Hugh fairly bounded for joy, and Neil's face 
grew rosy with his great delight. 

They bade Mr. Marvin good-bye, with a great 
hope of meeting him a month or two later ; and 
then, with their faces set toward home, they drove 
off across the rolling prairie. Those had been 
happy days, and the boys, all sunburned and ruddy 
with health, were now anxious to get back to their 
father and the young friends with whom they asso- 
ciated in the village. Their mother had been dead 
for some years ; consequently, their father was 
much more to them than a father usually is. 

The boys' hearts jumped when at last the church 
spires and painted roofs of the home village came 
in sight. 

As they drove up to the front gate of their 
home, Mr. Burton saw them from his library 
window, and came limping down the carriage-way 
to meet them. 

" Why, you are almost as black as little Hotten- 
tots ! " he exclaimed, looking at their sunbrowned 

"But we've had a glorious time," said Hugh. 
"1 never did enjoy anything so much. And, Papa, 
we wish to go home with Uncle Charley, and hunt 
in the South this winter, and he 's going to buy us 
guns and everything, — are n't you, Uncle Char- 
ley ? " 

" I should think, from your looks, that you have 
had hunting enough for one season, at least," said 
Mr. Burton. "Have they been reasonably good 
boys, Charles? " 

" Oh, yes," said Uncle Charley, " they have 
behaved in a very creditable way. I am proud of 
them. " 

Weeks passed before Neil and Hugh were tired 
of recounting to their young friends in Belair their 
many pleasing and their few thrilling adventures 
on the great prairie. 

Neil, with his usual foresight and philosophical 
prudence, fully believing that they would go South 
with Uncle Charley and Mr. Marvin, sent for a 
book on wing-shooting, and fell to studying it care- 
fully. He also renewed his readings in natural 
history. But Hugh was so full of fun and so rest- 
less, that he avoided any close application to study. 

" I am resolved," said Neil, " to know all I can 
about the haunts and habits of game, as well as 
about the best methods of hunting and shooting. 




Whatever is worth knowing and doing is worth 
knowing and doing well." 

He also took an old blunderbuss out of the gar- 
ret, and. although it had no lock, he used it to 
practice aiming. This exercise accustomed his 
hands, arms, and eyes to work in concert, a thing 
of prime importance in wing-shooting. 

Uncle Charley observed Neil's close application 
to the study of the matter in hand, but he said 
nothing. He knew that it meant success. He had 
arranged with Mr. Burton for the boys to go South 
with him, and had sent for their guns, which 
were to be made to order. He had also agreed to 
pay Mr. Marvin a sum of money sufficient to com- 
pensate him for the loss of the autumn shooting on 
the Kankakee, in order that he might go South 
early enough to make everything ready for a whole 
winter in the held. 

Mr. Marvin came to Belair on the same day that 
the boys' new guns arrived by express from New 
York. Those guns were beauties, too, just alike, 
weighing six and a half pounds each, sixteen-bore, 
Damascus barrels, with low hammers and pistol- 
grip stocks ; in fact, the very finest little guns that 
Blank Brothers could make. 

" You 're patriotic boys," said Mr. Marvin, after 
examining the weapons ; " you go in for American 
guns, do you ? " 

" I think our American work is quite equal to 
that of the English now," said Uncle Charley, 
" and these guns are recommended as very close, 
hard shooters." 

" So they are, and cheap. An English gun of 
their grade would have cost at least three hundred 

" Are n't they beauties, though ?" cried Hugh, 
dancing around with his gun in his hand. " I 'm 
going to name mine " Falcon," because it will be 
such a bird-destroyer ! What shall you name 
yours, Neil ? " 

" Mine shall be anonymous," said Neil, " but 
it will do good work, all the same ! " 

" When do we start to go South, Uncle Charley?" 
queried the always impatient Hugh. 

" Some time next week, perhaps," was the re- 
ply ; " are you in a hurry ? " 

" Yes, indeed ! " exclaimed Hugh, " I want to 
to be off just as soon as possible ! " 

"The first thing to do is to target those new 
guns," said Mr. Marvin. 

" What is targeting a gun ? " inquired Hugh. 

" I '11 show you," said Mr. Marvin. He took 
some white sheets of printer's paper, large enough 
to hold a circle thirty inches in diameter drawn with 
a pencil. In the center of the circle he made a 
small black spot. 

"Now," said he, "we shall see what kind of 

pattern the guns will make. If they are good or 
bad we shall soon know it." 

They took a dozen or so of these paper targets 
and went beyond the town limits, where they placed 
them one at' a time against the side of an old 
disused barn. Each barrel of the two guns was 
fired at a separate target, at the distance of forty 
yards, with shells loaded with three drams of pow- 
der and one ounce of number-eight shot. 

"These are most excellent guns," was Mr. Mar- 
vin's decision, after giving them a careful test. 
" See how evenly and close together they distrib- 
ute their shot with the left barrels, and how 
nicely the right barrels scatter the shot a little 
wider. Yes, young gentlemen, you have first-class 

" But why are the right barrels made to scatter 
wider?" inquired Hugh. 

" Because you shoot that barrel first and usually 
at short range, while you keep your left barrel for 
the second shot, which is nearly always at long 
range," replied Mr. Marvin. 

Neil had found this out long ago from his read- 

All the boys in Belair soon discovered that Neil 
and Hugh had fine guns, and this fact was the 
subject of lively conversation among them. And 
when the news of the proposed Southern trip leaked 
out our young friends were the heroes of the vil- 

Neil and Hugh had to answer hundreds of ques- 
tions, and tell their plans over and over again to 
their less fortunate playmates. 

And so at length the time for their going 

Chapter X. 


When the time came for the departure for the 
South, and everything had been packed and sent 
to the railway station, Mr. Burton gave his boys 
over into the care of Uncle Charley and Mr. 
Marvin. His last words to Neil and Hugh were : 

" Be good boys, and be careful how you handle 
your guns." 

Quite a number of the playmates and school- 
fellows of Neil and Hugh gathered at the station 
to see them off. The boys promised to send them 
specimens of birds, alligators' teeth, and other 
trophies of their prowess. 

It was on the eve of the second night following, 
that they reached Uncle Charley's house, a large 
building, set back some distance from a broad 
country road in the midst of a grove of big 
cedar trees. In fact, the place was known as " The 


/ U D 

Cedars," and the farm was one of the largest and 
best in East Tennessee. The boys were given a 
large, airy room, with a tall, high, old-fashioned 
bed in it, as their own. A bright fire was burning 
on the hearth of a broad-mouthed fire-place, and 
an old colored woman, named Rhoda, came to wait 
upon them. 

Next morning before breakfast Uncle Charley 
called them up to show them his kennels and 
stables. He had a great number of fine dogs and 
horses, of which he was very proud. Then he 
showed them his, fat cattle and his Cotswold sheep 

Uncle Charley had a coal-black negro servant, 
a boy about Neil's size, called Judge, who soon be- 
came acquainted with the boys. He was a bright 
fellow, whose mind was stored with all the queer 
notions peculiar to Southern negroes. He at once 
formed a great liking for Hugh, whose enthusiastic 
temperament captivated him. The two began to 
associate together a great deal, the negro taking 
Hugh over all the big farm and pointing out many 
places of curious interest — the cotton-gin, no 
longer in use ; the little corn-mill, with its big over- 
shot wheel, beside a brook ; the mill-pond, where in 





and his drove of young mules. It was quite plain 
that Uncle Charley was a thrifty and energetic 
farmer. His house was on a hill, from which one 
could see all over the broad rolling farm, consisting 
of about a thousand acres of rich brown land, fenced 
with cedar rails and under a high state of cultivation. 

" You see I don't hunt all the time," said Uncle 
Charley. " I have this big farm to oversee and 
take care of." 

" I should think it would be a very delightful 
business to take care of such a beautiful farm," 
said Neil, looking about on the clean fields and 
well-kept flocks and herds. 

" I like it very much," said Uncle Charley. 
" It pleases me to see my crops of corn and wheat 
grow and ripen and my cattle get fat and sleek. 
After I have worked hard and have been success- 
ful, then I can take my gun and go off for a long 
hunt, feeling that I have earned the right to enjoy it." 

summer Judge went in swimming ; the vast peach- 
orchards, and many farm implements quite differ- 
ent from those which Hugh had been accustomed 
to see in the barns of farmers at the North. 

Mr. Marvin and Uncle Charley took time to 
carefully arrange their plans and collect their 
supplies for the winter. It was agreed that their 
first hunting should be done in North Georgia, 
where quail was plentiful and the facility for ship- 
ping the game to a good market was all that could 
be desired by Mr. Man-in. 

There is one kind of shooting allowed in the 
Southern States which is strictly forbidden in 
most Northern and Western States, namely, dove- 
shooting. Doves are great pests to the Southern 
farmer. In autumn they collect in immense flocks, 
and sometimes utterly destroy whole fields of peas ; 
so that the saying " Innocent as a dove" is not of 
much force there, and the birds are often killed in 




large numbers and sent to market, mostly by 
negro hunters and trappers. 

Neil and Hugh were extremely anxious to try 
their new guns, and it chanced that one day a 
grand flight of doves settled in one of Uncle Char- 
ley's pea fields. This was a good excuse for the 
boys. They seized their weapons and were off in a 
surprisingly short space of time. Even Judge 
brought forth a gun, and such a gun as it was ! A 
short, clumsy, big-bored affair, with only one bar- 
rel and a flint-lock. 

" I think I 'd better go with the boys," said Mr. 
Marvin, getting out his smaller gun; "they '11 
need some watching and directing." And it 
turned out that they did need very close watch- 
ing ; for Hugh and Judge went wild as soon as 
they got among the doves, banging away in every 
direction, and apparently not caring much who or 
what was in the way. Neil and Mr. Marvin had to 
be very careful to keep out of the way of danger. 
Much to every one's surprise, Judge killed a greater 
number of birds than either Neil or Hugh. He 
used his old flint-lock with real expertness. 

A funny thing happened to Hugh. He killed a 
dove, which fell over in a little field where Uncle 
Charley kept a fine English bull. The fence was 
a very high one, but Hugh climbed over it and 
ran to get his game. The bull, thinking he had 
come to give it some salt, ran toward Hugh, 
bellowing loudly. 

The boy cast one wild, horrified glance at the 
wrinkled face and sharp horns of the huge animal, 
and then flung down his gun and ran back to the 
fence, screaming at every jump. The bull followed 
briskly, bellowing brokenly, until it came to where 
Hugh's gun lay. then it stopped and began to bel- 
low and to paw the earth w ith one of its fore feet. 

Hugh climbed over the fence and stood peeping 
through a crack, trembling and panting. The 
bull was striking his gun with its foot and knock- 
ing it about as if it were a straw. 

Mr. Marvin, hearing the boy's wild screams, 
ran to the spot as quickly as he could, but Judge 
outran him and reached Hugh just in time to see 
the bull break the stock of the gun short off at the 

Judge did not stop at the fence, but scrambled 
over it, and, rushing up, drove the bull away and 
picked up the shattered weapon, which he brought 
back to where Hugh and Mr. Marvin stood. 

" Dat 'sa mighty much ob a pity, Mahs' Hugh," 
said the negro, rolling his big white eyes commis- 
eratingly. "What yo' gwine to do 'boutdis purty 
gun, now ? " 

Hugh could not speak. His voice stuck in'his 
throat, and his lips were purple with excitement 
and distress. 

Mr. Marvin looked very much disappointed. 
He took the mutilated gun in his hands and 
examined it in silence. Neil came up and joined 
the solemn group. 

"Why, what 's the trouble?" he inquired. 

" De bull 's smashed de young boss's new gun 
all to bits," said Judge. " He was just a-pawin' it 
an' a-pawin' it when I got heah. Mahs' Hugh 's 
de 'fraidest boy I ebber see, an' dat 's a fac' ! " 

"Well, the harm 's done," said Mr. Marvin, 
" and it can't be helped now." 

They formed a doleful procession as they 
trudged homeward in silence across the fields. 
Hugh felt that all his dreams of sport were at an 
end. He looked at Neil's bright, clean gun, and 
then" at his own battered and broken weapon. 
The tears would force their way out of his eyes in 
spite of all he could do. 

" I suppose it is n't right to kill doves," he said, 
at last, regretfully. 

" It is n't right to fling down a fine gun and run 
away every time you hear a bull bellow ! " ex- 
claimed Mr. Marvin, rather gruffly. "I should 
like to know what you 'd do if you should see a 
bear or an alligator ! " 

" Dat chile 'ud jes' break his neck a-runnin'," 
said Judge. 

" I hate to have Uncle Charley know I have 
broken my gun," muttered Hugh. 

" De bull broke dat gun ; you did n't break it," 
said Judge. 

"I think it can be mended," remarked Neil. 
"A gunsmith could put a piece of silver around 
the broken place and fasten it so that it would be 
nearly as nice as before." 

" Oh, do you think so ? " cried Hugh ; " Oh, but 
I do hope it can be done ! I will never be careless 
again if I can have my gun all right once more." 

Uncle Charley was surprised, but he spoke 
kindly to Hugh, and said he would see what could 
be done. Next day he took the gun away to a 
neighboring town and left it with a gunsmith to 
be mended. When it was brought back, the silver 
splice had engraved upon it the following words : 

"Always keep cooi." 

The work had been very nicely done, and the 
weapon was really quite as good, and as pretty as 
it had been before it was broken. 

Hugh's spirits immediately revived, and he was 
just as happy as ever. 

Chapter XI. 


IT was on a beautiful November day, almost as 
warm as in September, that our friends started from 
Uncle Charley's house to make an excursion into 



North Georgia to shoot quail and wild turkeys, or 
whatever other seasonable game could be found. 
A big Tennessee wagon, covered with a roofing ot 
white cotton cloth, and drawn by two strong mules, 
was to be the pack vehicle. It was driven and 
managed by an old colored man named Samson, 
whose hair and beard were like white wool. A 
long-bodied hack, or road-wagon, with three seats 
in it, and covered with oil-cloth, had been fitted 
up for the hunters to ride in. Judge was to drive 
this equipage, which was drawn by two of Uncle 
Charley's beautiful work-horses. The dogs were 
to go in the big wagon with Samson and the 

The mountain region of East Tennessee and 
North Georgia is one of the most charming coun- 
tries in the world. Tire valleys are warm and 
fertile, lying between high ranges of blue moun- 
tain peaks and green foot-hills covered with groves 
of pines and cedars, oaks and hickory-trees. The 
air is pure and healthful and the water is the best 
that cold mountain springs can afford. Vast tracts 
of this region are so broken up with ravines, 
abrupt hills, and rugged cliffs of rock, that they 
are not fit for agriculture, and consequently are 
not inhabited, save by hardy hunters, trappers, 
or nut-gatherers. Here and there, in the wildest 
parts of the mountain ranges, are found what are 
called " pockets " ; they are small valleys, or dells, 
walled in by the cliffs, and are usually garden- 
spots of fertility, where are found families of settlers 
who live peaceful, quiet lives, entirely shut away 
from the rest of the world. 

The first day after leaving Uncle Charley's farm, 
our friends traveled about forty miles, reaching the 
foot-hills of a range of mountains close to the 
northern line of Georgia. They had crossed some 
large streams and passed over some outlying 
spurs of another mountain range, and were now 
ready to begin the ascent of the lofty pile before 

They pitched their tents beside a clear spring 
just as darkness began to gather in the woods. 
On one side of them rose a steep escarpment of 
broken cliffs ; in every other direction a dense for- 
est of pines, undergrown with bushes and vines of 
various sorts, stretched away gloomy and silent. 

Judge built a fire while Samson was feeding the 
animals, and then the two went to work to get 
supper. They broiled slices of ham and baked 
a hoe-cake, made a pot of coffee, and roasted some 
potatoes and apples. The flaring yellow flames 
from the pine-knots that Judge had put on the 
fire threw a wavering light far out among the 
dusky trees, and the black smoke rolled lightly up 
among the overhanging boughs. 

They all were very hungry. There is nothing 

like the mountain air to whet one's appetite. Any 
food seems to taste much better out in the woods 
than it does at home. 

" I should think there might be bears in these 
mountains," said Hugh, as he leisurely sipped his 
coffee, " and deer, too." 

" There are some deer, and there may be a few 
black bears," said Uncle Charley, "but they are 
too scarce and shy to be hunted with profit. 
Wild cats are plentiful, however, in all this re- 

"I should like to see a wild cat," said Hugh. 
" What does it look like? " 

" Very like a common gray house-cat, only 
two or three times as large, and it has a larger 
head in proportion to its body and a short tail. 
It is a savage creature and very dangerous at times. 
The claws and teeth are long and sharp, and it is 
very muscular and powerful." 

" Oo wild cats ever attack people?" inquired 
Hugh, helping himself to another roasted apple. 

' L I have heard of such a thing, said Uncle 
Charley, " and I should n't care to meet one at 
close quarters, especially if it were wounded." 

" I want to hunt something dangerous and 
have some adventures worth talking about," said 

■' Why, your bull adventure was stirring and 
dangerous enough, was n't it ? " growled Mr. Mar- 
vin over his plate of ham. 

"That bull looked dangerous, anyhow; and 
besides, if I 'd stood still and it had gored me, you 
would have said I was foolish for not running." 

"' Yes, but you threw down your gun; that was 
what I blamed you for," said Mr. Marvin. " It 's 
a rule among good soldiers never to drop their 
guns. A hunter should follow the same rule." 

When supper was over, they all sat in a circle 
around the fire listening to hunting-stories by 
Uncle Charley and Mr. Marvin. Even old Sam- 
son crept up near enough to hear, while he smoked 
his cob pipe with great show of satisfaction. 

Air. Marvin's best story was about a panther- 
hunt in a jungle of the Florida everglades. He 
was describing how, in the course of the hunt, he 
chanced to come suddenly face to face with the 
panther, which was crouching on a mass of boughs 
and vines about ten feet above the ground. 

'• I was carrying a double-barreled gun," he 
said, " of which one barrel was a rifle, the other 
for shot. I saw the savage beast just as it was 
making ready to spring upon me. I believe I felt 
very much like doing as Hugh did when the bull 
came bellowing toward him ; but the trouble in 
my case was that I could not run. I was hemmed 
in by strong bushes and vines. So I summoned all 
my nerve power and raised my gun to take aim. 




lust as I did so the panther leaped straight toward 

At this point in Mr. Marvin's narration, and as 
if to sharply emphasize the climax, there came 
from the woods right behind Hugh a wild shriek 
altogether startling in its loudness and harshness. 
Hugh sprang to his feet and leaped clear over the 

" Ugh ! O-oh ! what was that ? " he cried, his 
eyes seeming to start almost out of his head. 

Old Samson laughed aloud and said : " Bress 
yo', chile, dat nuffin' but an ole owl ; he 's not 
gwine ter hurt ye ! " 

" I think we '11 have to send you home, Hugh," 
said Uncle Charley; "you '11 never do for one of 
our party if you keep on in this way." 

Hugh crept back to his place, and Mr. Marvin 
resumed his story : 

" I fired both barrels point blank at that brute 
as it sailed through the air, and at the same mo- 
ment I dropped flat upon the ground, thinking that 
the panther would go beyond me before it struck. 
But I reckoned wrongly ; it came right down upon 
me, almost crushing me. My legs were tangled 
in some briery vines and my right arm was doubled 
under me. The panther struggled terribly, tear- 
ing the ground with its feet on each side of me. 
uttering at the same time a sort of gurgling growl. 
It was very heavy, and my position made its weight 
seem double what it really was. I tried to throw 
it off, but my strength was not sufficient. With 
another hard struggle it died right there, lying 
across my back. If my legs had not been so 
badly tangled I could have got out from under the 
dead brute. As it was, I could do nothing but lie 
there and halloo. It was not the weight so much 
as my cramped and tangled situation that held me 
down. To add to the terror of my predicament I 
heard the panther's mate scream in the jungle 
close by. My hunting companions were beating 
about somewhere in the neighborhood, but I could 
not hear them. I screamed like a steam-whistle, but 
no answer came. It was then that I suddenly 
realized the awful possibilities of my situation. If 
my companions were out of hearing, how could I 
ever get help ? As I lay there, I could see for some 
distance along an opening in the undergrowth to 
where a big cypress tree grew at the edge of a 
little pond. The other panther leaped a few feet 
up the bole of this tree and screamed again. That 
was to me the most terrific sound I ever heard. 
Just then it struck me that I must go systemati- 
cally to work to free myself. I lay quite still for a 
time, thinking. Then I began working my feet 
out of the tangle of vines. It was hard work, but 
I persevered and finally succeeded. Then by a 
strong effort I freed my right arm and, turning my- 

self a little, I rolled the panther off me. The next 
thing 1 did was to load both barrels of my gun, for 
I could now hear the other sa*rage beast growling 
close by in the jungle. Fear made me alert and 
steady. Soon I saw a pair of eyes glaring at me 
not more than two rods away. I took deliber- 
ate aim and fired both barrels, sending a ball 
and nine large buckshot to the spot between 
those eyes. That was a great adventure for me. I 
never have known another man who has killed two 
full-grown panthers on the same day. My com- 
panions had heard my firing, and came to me. 
There lay my two royal enemies dead within a 
few feet of each other and each shot in the face. 
But from that day to this I never have had the 
slightest desire to hunt panthers." 

It was now time to go to bed, so Uncle Charley 
ordered Samson and Judge to their wagon in 
which they were to sleep. 

Mr. Marvin rolled himself in his blankets and 
lay down by the fire, a way of resting he preferred 
to being cramped in a tent, especially when the 
weather was so dry. 

At about eleven o'clock the moon came up in 
the East, filling the woods with a pale light that 
flickered on the gray mountain cliffs like a silver 
mist. The big horned owl that had so scared 
Hugh came and perched itself upon the top of a 
dead pine near the camp, giving forth now and 
then its peculiar, wild cry. As it sat upon the 
highest spire of the tree, it looked double its real 
size, outlined against the clear gray sky. It would 
turn its large head from side to side, as if keeping 
a vigilant outlook for danger. 

Hugh awoke from a sweet sleep and heard the 
owl. He chanced to remember that his father had 
long wanted a stuffed owl for his library. Why 
would n't it be just as well to get this one for him? 

Very slyly and quietly Hugh arose and put on 
his clothes. Slipping his gun from its case and 
loading it with heavy-shotted cartridges, he stole 
noiselessly out of the tent. Every one else was 
sleeping. Even Samson's big yellow 'coon dog, 
that lay under the wagon, did not seem to awake. 

Hugh crouched and crept along under cover of 
a small cedar bush until he got within long range 
of the owl ; then, taking aim as best he could, he 

What a noise that gun did make in the still 
forest ! The report went bellowing off in the dis- 
tance, and then, flung back by some echo-making 
cliff or hollow, returned withmellow, fragmentary 
rattling. The dogs began to bark, the horses and 
mules snorted, old Samson leaped out of his wagon, 
Mr. Marvin sprang from his sound sleep beside the 
embers of the fire. In fact, there was a general 
alarm in the camp. 



Chapter XII. 


WHEN Hugh tired, the owl came tumbling down 
from its lofty perch, napping its wings as it fell. 
That was a good shot, and Hugh felt a thrill of 
gratification and pride as he saw the effect of it. 
He ran to the spot where the great bird lay, and 
hastily picked it up. Immediately he screamed 
with pain and tried to drop it ; but it had seized 
his hand with its beak and talons and would not let 
go. " O ! O ! O ! " he cried, " it 's killing me ! 
it 's killing me ! O, Uncle Charley ! Mr. Marvin ! 
come here, quick ! " 

The owl was not much hurt, the tip of one wing 
having been broken. Its strong hooked beak and 
its long talons were piercing Hugh's hand cruelly. 
The pain was almost unbearable. 

Mr. Marvin seized his gun and ran to the spot, 
expecting to find a bear or a catamount tearing 
Hugh to pieces. Uncle Charley, Neil and Samson 
snatched up whatever weapon was nearest and 
hurriedly joined Mr. Marvin. 

But by the time they had all collected around 
Hugh, he had choked the owl to death with his 
free hand. The bird had given him some ugly 
scratches, however, and his face looked ghastly 
pale in the moonlight. 

Fortunately no arteries or large veins had been 
pierced by the owl's talons or beak. Samson, who 
was not a bad doctor in affairs of this kind, bound 
up Hugh's wounds, and they did not afterward give 
him much trouble. 

Next morning, Mr. Marvin skinned the owl and 
packed the skin away for mounting. 

The party resumed their journey, and at once 
began following a zigzag road that led up the steep 
side of the mountain they had to cross. 

Neil preferred to walk. He was keeping a diary 
of all that happened and of what he saw and heard. 
Being nimble of foot, he was easily able to keep 
ahead of the wagons, and whenever he saw a new 
plant or tree or some rare bird, he would sit down 
upon a stone beside the road, and write a descrip- 
tion of it in his book. He could draw a little, too, 
and he made sketches, as best he could, of such 
objects and bits of landscape as he thought might 
be interestingly described in a more comprehensive 
account of their journey, which he meant to pre- 
pare at his leisure. 

There were not many birds on the mountain, 
but Neil had a good opportunity to note the ap- 
pearance and habits of the pileated woodpecker, a 
bird very rare in the Middle and Western States. 
It is next to the largest of American woodpeckers, 
being nearly the size of a crow, almost black, with 

a tall scarlet crest on the back of its head. The 
mountaineers call it log-cock, because it is so often 
seen pecking on rotten logs in the woods. It 
makes its nest in a hollow which it digs in decay- 
ing tree-boles. 

When our friends reached the top of the mount- 
ain, they found a fine grove of chestnut-trees 
loaded with their opening burrs. Samson, Hugh, 
and Judge gathered a large bagful of the nuts and 
put them in the wagon. 

Neil climbed to the top of a great stone-pile 
from which he beheld a grand view of the surround- 
ing country, for miles and miles. He could see 
beautiful valleys and shining streams, cozy farm- 
houses and scattering villages, while far off, against 
the horizon in every direction, rose an undulating 
line of blue mountains. 

It was late at night when they reached a good 
camping-place among the foot-hills on the Georgia 
side. They all were very hungry and tired. The 
smell of broiling bacon and steeping coffee soon 
rilled the dewy air. A small cold mountain-brook 
bubbled along beside the tents, and not far off was 
the log cabin of a family of mountaineers. 

" We are near to the quail country, now," said 
Uncle Charley, "'and I think we may count upon 
some good shooting to-morrow. The valley just 
below us is covered with farms of growing wheat 
and corn, and no one ever comes there to hunt." 

" But will the farmers let us shoot their birds? " 
inquired Neil, who recollected the angry remonstra- 
tions of some of the prairie folk against the shoot- 
ing of grouse. 

" O, yes," said Uncle Charley ; " these mountain 
people arc the most hospitable and accommo- 
dating folk you ever saw. Their leading thought, 
so long as we stay among them, will be to make 
us thoroughly enjoy ourselves." 

Samson announced supper. All were quite 
ready to do justice to the meal he had prepared, 
and they were busily engaged in eating, when 
a man and two boys approached them, bearing 
flaming torches made of long splinters of pitch- 

"Hello, strangers, how d'ye do?" exclaimed 
the man in a hearty, friendly voice. 

" Good evening," said Uncle Charley, very 

" Seein' your fire down here, I thought that meb- 
be you 'd like to join in .1 little fun up the hollow," 
said the stranger. 

•• Well, what is the fun ? " inquired Uncle 

" My old dog Bounce has treed a coon up the hol- 
low, and we 're just going to cut the tree. Can't you 
come and go along?" The man. as he spoke, took 
an ax from his shoulder and rested it on the ground 




by his feet. " Don't you hear the dog baying?" 
he added. 

Sure enough, the hoarse mouthing of a cur came 
echoing from the depths of the wood. 

" Ef you 're shoor dat it 's a coon," said Sam- 
son, "why, den, I'd like ter go." 

" So would I ! " said Hugh. 

" Well, it 's a coon," said the man. " Old 
Bounce does n't bark for anything but coons or 
wild cats. It might possibly be a wild cat." 

Mr. Marvin said he thought that he would go, 
too, as he had n't seen a coon fight for a great 

and fighting. Uncle Charley sprang to his feet 
and listened. 

" It is a wildcat," he said, "and it is ' punishing' 
that dog terribly. Just listen ! What a fight 
they 're having ! " 

They could hear Hugh's clear voice and Sam- 
son's loud shouts mingling with the general din. 

"Is there any danger? Do you think Hugh 
will get hurt ? " exclaimed Neil, whose first thought 
was for the safety of his brother. Uncle Charley 
did not at once reply. He was too much absorbed 
in listening to the exciting racket. 

many years. Uncle Charley, 
Neil, and Judge preferred to stay 
at the camp. Neil wanted to write 
a letter to his father before going 
to bed. Uncle Charley was tired, 
and Judge was sleepy. 

The torches, as they were borne 
away through the woods, made the 
men and boys who kept within their 
light look like restless specters. If 
Neil had known what an exciting 
event was about to happen, up in that little hollow, 
he would not have stayed in camp, as he did. He 
presently heard the sound of an ax ringing on 
solid timber, and, after a long while, a great tree 
fell to the ground with a loud crash. Then there 
arose a perfect bedlam of voices. The yelping 
of a dog was mingled with shouts and screams 
and a sound as of some savage animal snarling 


" Let's go to them," continued Neil; " they may 
need help." 

" It 's too far," said Uncle Charley ; " we could 
not get there in time to be of any service." And 
even as he spoke, the noise began to subside. 

" They 've killed it, or it has escaped," Uncle 
Charley continued; "they '11 be coming back 
directly. It must have been a hard fight while it 


I I 

lasted, and very exciting, too, for I heard Marvin 
yell loudly once or twice." 

" I wish I had gone along," said Neil, moving 
restlessly about; "I wouldn't have missed it for 

" If it was a wild cat, and I think it was," said 
Uncle Charley, " it must have escaped. I don't 
think they could have killed it in so short a time. 
There was n't a gun in the party, and I know, 
from the way the dog howled, that the victory was 
not due to him ; he was whipped." 

" Why did n't Mr. Marvin and Hugh take their 
guns? I never heard of such carelessness ! " said 
Neil, adding anxiously: "Perhaps some one of 
them is badly hurt." 

After long waiting, Uncle Charley and Neil at 
last saw the flash of torches. 

Chapter XIII. 


THE party of coon-hunters soon came up, all of 
them more or less excited. The tall, strong 
mountaineer carried a dead wild cat strung upon 
a pole. 

"Ah, you killed it, did you?" exclaimed Uncle 

" Y-e-s, the boy killed it," replied the man ; " he 
knocked it on the head with alight'd knot." 

The man alluded to Samson when he said " boy." 
Southern men usually call colored men boys. 

" Mahs' Hugh ud 'a' been a gone chile ef I had 
n't 'a' knocked de varmint," said Samson. 

" How was that ? " demanded Uncle Charley, 
with a look of alarm. 

"Was it after Hugh ?" exclaimed Neil, excitedly. 

" Oh, it was a-bowsin' around an' a-snappin' an' 
a-clawin', an' Mahs' Hugh he climb'd a tree up a lit- 
tle ways, an' de dog was a-howlin' at a great rate, 
an' I was a-poundin'away at the varmint, an' it clim 
de tree, too, an' nearly cotch up wid Mahs' Hugh 
afore he got six feet high up de tree, an' Mahs' Hugh 
he was a squeechin' powerful, an' den I whack'd it 
on de head an' down it came ! Den dat dog he got 
berry sabbage all to once, seein' dat de varmint 
wus kickin' its last, an' he got braver an' braver, 
an' fell to fightin' it like mad. But dat varmint 
had done gib dat dog 'nuff fore dat, I tell ye ! " 

Next morning, our friends descended into the 
valley and pitched their tents among the fertile 

A railway crossed the lower end of this valley, 
where there was a small village and a station from 
which Mr. Marvin could ship his game. 

The camping-place was beside a deep, narrow 
little river, or rivulet, the winding course of which 
through the valley was marked by parallel fringes 
of plane and tulip trees. 

The farms were very rich, having that peculiar 
sort of soil called " mulatto," in which the famous 
Georgia red wheat grows to such perfection as it 
never attains elsewhere. 

Here the blue jays, cardinal grosbeaks, brown 
thrushes, and crested fly-catchers were found by 
Neil. Gray squirrels, already growing scarce in 
the Western States, seemed to be quite plentiful 
in this region, and were the only small game hunted 
by the farmers, whose long flint-lock rifles were 
quite interesting to Neil and Hugh. 

Judge was sent to the neighboring village, that 
afternoon, to get some needed supplies, and to post 
some letters, among which was a long one from 
Neil to his father. 

Since they had crossed the mountain and de- 
scended into Georgia, they noticed a certain sweet- 
ness and warmth in the air, and even at that late 
season the sky had a summer-like tenderness of 
color. Many of the deciduous trees still retained 
their leaves, and the farmers were in the midst of 

Neil and Hugh were surprised to see boys smaller 
than Hugh plowing in the fields or "shucking" 

Every one, old and young, seemed happy, in- 
dustrious, and contented. 

Most of the houses were built of split logs, with 
no chinking in the cracks, and covered with clap- 
boards. The chimneys were made of sticks of 
wood built up pen-fashion and covered with mud 
or clay. 

In fact everything, even to the trees and the wild 
flowers, was strange and interesting, especially to 
Neil. The people were exceedingly kind and hos- 
pitable, giving the hunters all the aid in their 

And so their first quail-hunt promised to be all 
that they could desire. 

( To be continued. J 



By Virginia L. Townsend. 

"General Gage had received early in the morning of April 19, 1775, the request for reinforcements. He 
sent out twelve hundred men. They marched through West Cambridge, on their way to Concord. A little girl 
named Nabby Blackington was watching her mother's cow while she fed by the roadside. The cow took her way 
directly through the passing column, and the little girl, faithful to her trust, followed through the ranks bristling 
with bayonets. The soldiers allowed her to pass. ' We will not hurt the child,' they said." 

In the Middlesex woods the south winds blew Stood by the stone wall low and old, 

'Round the pale anemones wet with dew ; While the long bright column before her rolled ; 

And the great farm-orchards, amid their glooms. And it seemed to her wide and dazzled eyes 
Held the first faint scent of the apple blooms; That the splendor dropped from the sweet spring 

And fair with the young year's leafy green 
Did the elm-boughs over the roadsides lean ; But the cow stopped munching the roadside grass, 

And across the highway set out to pass, 
And the robins sang on that ancient day 
The old, sweet songs that they sing each May. Freely she roamed, where, broad and still, 

The lush spring-pastures o'erspread the hill; 
And a little girl out on the lone highways 
Watched the cow, in the sunshine sent to graze, — And straight in the hurrying column's face 

She came with her slow and lumbering pace. 
Watched and wandered thro' light and dew 
Of that April morning, where south winds blew; — To follow the cow seemed a duty plain 

To the girl's young heart and bewildered brain, 
Till a something thrilled thro' the silence 'round, 
And it seemed that a thunder shook the ground. And she passed out quickly from the shade, 

By the low stone wall, which the maples made ; — 
For she heard the hoofs of horses beat, 
And the rhythmic tread of men's swift feet ; And out on the turnpike, all alone. 

And before the ranks where the bayonets shone, 
And a moment later, a wondrous scene 
Was framed in the wide old turnpike's green ; A moment later, a creature slight, 

She stood in the wondering army's sight, — 
For gay on the air the banners streamed, 
The scarlet glittered, the bayonets gleamed, A sunbrowned girl, with small flushed face 

And bright scared eyes, and the nameless grace 
Where the British column, twelve hundred strong, 
On the Middlesex highway swept along. Of childhood hov'ring about her there ; 

And a glint of gold in the tumbled hair 
For the troops that were marching to Concord 

town, Out of her sun-bonnet fallen down. 

To mow — like a swathe — the rebels down, — So swift she came, so slight and brown, 

Had seen the Lilies of Bourbon glance That under the soldiers' very eyes 

On fields that had shivered the pride of France ; There seemed for the moment an elf to rise. 

And it seemed, to King George's veterans, play Then a rush of the sweet old memories fell 
To scatter the yeomen like chaff that day. On their hard, fierce mood, like a sudden spell ; 

The girl stood still in the flickering shade And the sound of the wind among the trees 

Which the fresh-leaved maples around her made, — Seemed the singing of thrushes across the seas ; 



And the glad green meadows of England spread For the eyes in her brown face seemed to be 
Where the Cambridge pastures had stretched The eyes of his own child over the sea. 
instead ; 

And the close-set lips thro' their sternness 
And the red wild rose of the English spring smiled 

Flushed the ancient lanes with its blossoming. As they spoke out: "We will not hurt the child." 

And around the fields like drifting snow 
The hawthorn hedges were all in blow. 

The sign for the halt was quicklv made, 
And the girl to the column drew, half afraid: 

Till the shght, scared girl, with the tumbled hair, For over her head the banners streamed, 
lo each soldier's gaze drew a vision fair ; And all about her the bright steel gleamed; 

Vol. XI.— 46. 




And she could not see, so swift she went, 
What the smiles and the softened glances meant ; 

But safe thro' the bristling ranks she stept, 
And calmly her onward way she kept. 

And she joined the cow on the roadside brown, 
While the troops marched on toward Concord town. 

Oft told in story and sung in song, 

The deeds of that day to the world belong. 

And the scenes of that time have power to thrill 
The heart of a mighty nation still ; 

Tho' a hundred years have come and gone 
Since the sun rose bright in that April dawn. 

But whenever the tales of the ancient strife, 
And the forms of its heroes start to life, 

One picture will always come up to me ; 
The girl and the grazing cow I see, 

And the troops to the signal have halted swift, 
And the plumes on the soft air gayly drift, 

And the highway burns with the column's red, 
As when " We will not hurt the child " they said. 


By Mrs. H. Mann. 

The little fellow shown in the picture on the 
opposite page deserves the name bird-mouse, be- 
cause he hops about like a bird on the ground, 
and has even been mistaken for one ; yet in 
shape and manners he is like a mouse. 

He has four legs, but the two in front are held so 
closely against his breast that they are hardly seen, 
and he never uses them for getting about. He 
walks on his hind legs alone. When in no 
haste, he walks and runs on these two as easily as a 
bird, not hopping, but putting one foot before the 
other as you do ; and if he is frightened or has 
any need to go quickly, he simply brings the two 
long legs up together, stretches his long tail out 
in the position of a letter S laid on its side, with 
the tip touching the ground, and goes off with 
leaps as great, in proportion to his size, as those 
of a kangaroo. So fast does he go, and so lightly 
does he touch the ground when he comes down 
between the leaps, that in rapid flight he looks 
exactly like a bird skimming over the sand ; and 
nothing can catch him, not even a greyhound with 
his marvelous leaps. 

This pretty little creature lives in Africa, in the 
hot sand of the desert, a place so dismal that he 
has it nearly all to himself, for few animals can 
endure it. He prefers it, however, perhaps for its 
safety from enemies, and he digs out for himself 
and his family a snug, underground house, con- 
taining many passages, with little rooms here and 
there, and in the deepest and safest corner of all, a 
cozy nursery for the mamma-mouse and her babies. 

In this quiet place the mother-mouse prepares a 
soft nest, it is said by lining it with hair from her 

own breast, and here she keeps safely her two or 
three funny little mice till they are big enough to 
walk about and hop off for themselves. 

The little family is never lonely ; for near at hand 
are many other bird-mice, living in similar homes, 
which are connected with one another by the pas- 
sages, and so form in fact a real city under the 
sand. To this safely hidden town there are many 
doors ; so that, if one is closed by any accident, 
another may always be found by which to get in or 
out ; and once out on the ground, as I said before, 
few enemies can catch him. 

One would think there could be no enemies to 
fear in that far-off desert. There are not many ; 
but there is one, — the same who often makes him- 
self the greatest enemy of all birds and beasts, 
— 'man. The Arabs, who also live in the desert, 
are very fond of the flesh of the bird-mice, and they 
hunt the small burrowers by stopping up all but 
one of the doors to a colony of nests. They then 
gather around the one door left open, and thus 
catch the little fellows as they come out. 

This interesting animal is about six inches long, 
or as large as a small rat. His coat is gray on the 
back, and white underneath, or nearly the color of 
the sand he lives in. He has large thin ears, and 
great bright eyes. 

His tail is nearly twice as long as his body, with 
a thick tuft like a brush at the end. This tail is 
of very great use to him, both in walking upright 
and in his long leaps. If an unfortunate little 
fellow loses this useful member, he not only can not 
jump. — or, at least, is afraid to do so, — but he 
can not even walk. When he tries to get up, he 




rolls over on his side. It is as important for 
steadying him as one of his legs. 

I said that he walks, and runs, and hops, only 
on two feet ; and one of his scientific names, 
Dipus, meaning two-footed, was probably given 
him because of that fact. The hind feet are curi- 
ous, having only three toes, and being covered 
even on the soles with stiff hairs, so that we may 
say that he is really protected from the heat by 

He can dig out his burrow whenever he likes, 
and he is obliged to keep his digging tools in 
good order, for his food consists mostly of roots. 

But with all this hard work to do, his life is not 
entirely confined to digging. He is a jolly little- 
fellow, and when the desert is silent and no cara- 
van or wandering Arab is in sight, he comes out 
of his house, basks in the hot sunshine, of which 
he is fond, and plays and sports with his friends. 

fur boots. Under the hairs, too, he has many 
elastic balls on the soles of his feet, so that he 
does not hurt himself, however suddenly or weight- 
ily he may alight upon the ground. 

It is almost impossible to keep this creature in 
confinement, for he has powerful teeth and very 
strong claws on those little fore feet, and he is able 
to dig and gnaw through not only the baked earth, 
but even thin layers of stone. 

If a person can manage to hide himself, and 
keep so still as not to be noticed, it is interesting to 
watch the frolics of the pretty creatures when they 
think no one is near. 

I have called the little animal a bird-mouse, but 
he is known generally by the name of Jerboa, and 
his scientific name is Dipus ^-Egypticus — or, as 
we might freely translate it — The Egyptian two- 





[AJierward Major-General, and Lieutenant-Governor of 

the State of New i'ori.] 

I QUESTION whether any of my young readers, 
however well up in history they may be, can place 
the great River of Prince Maurice (De Riviere 
Van den Voorst Mauritius), which, two hundred 
years ago, flowed through the broad domain of the 
lord patroons of Rensselaerswyck. And yet, it is 
the same wide river upon the crowded shore of 
which now stands the great city of New York ; the 
same fair river above the banks of which now tow- 
ers the noble front of the massive State Capitol at 
Albany. And that lofty edifice stands not far from 
the very spot where, beneath the pyramidal belfry of 
the old Dutch church, the boy patroon sat nodding 
through Dominie Wcsterlo's sermon, one drowsy 
July Sunday in the summer of 1777. 

The good dominie's "seventhly" came to a 
sudden stop as the tinkle of the deacon's collec- 
tion-bell fell upon the ears of the slumbering con- 
gregation. In the big Van Rensselaer pew it 
roused Stephanus. the boy patroon, from a de- 
lightful dream of a ten-pound twaalf, or striped 
bass, which he thought he had just hooked at the 
mouth of Bloemert's Kill ; and rather guiltily, 
as one who has been " caught napping," he 
dropped his two "half-joes" into the deacon's 

" fish-net" — for so the 1 
reverently called the 
bag which, stuck on one end of 
a long pole, was always passed 
around for contributions right in the middle of the 
sermon. Then, the good dominie went back to his 
" seventhly," and the congregation to their slum- 
bers, while the restless young Stephanus traced 
with his finger-nail upon the cover of his psalm- 
book the profile of his highly respected guard- 
ian, General Ten Broek, nodding solemnly in 
the magistrate's pew. At last, the sands in the 
hour-glass, that stood on the queer, one-legged, 
eight-sided pulpit, stopped running, and so did the 
dominie's "noble Dutch"; the congregation filed 
out of church, and the Sunday service was over. 
And so, too, was the Sunday quiet. For scarcely 
had the people passed the porch, when, down from 
the city barrier at the colonic gate, clattered a hur- 
rying horseman. 

"From General Schuyler, sir," he said, as he 
reined up before General Ten Broek and handed 
him an order to muster the militia at once and re- 
pair to the camp at Fort Edward. St. Clair, so 
said the dispatch, had been defeated ; Ticonderoga 
was captured, Burgoync was marching to the 
Hudson, the Indians were on the war-path, and 
help was needed at once if they would check 
Burgoyne and save Albany from pillage. 

The news fell with a sudden shock upon the 
little city of the Dutchmen. Ticonderoga fallen, 
and the Indians on the war-path ! Even the most 
stolid of the Albany burghers felt his heart beat- 
ing faster, while many a mother looked anxiously 

''Copyright, 1883, by E. S. Brooks. All rights reserved 



at her little ones and called to mind the terrible 
tales of Indian cruelty and pillage. But the young 
Van Rensselaer, pressing close to the side of fair 
Mistress Margarita Schuyler, said soberly : "These 
be sad tidings, Margery ; would it not be wiser for 
you all to come up to the manor-house for safety ? " 

"For safety?" echoed high-spirited Mistress 
Margery. "Why, what need, Stephanus? Is not 
my father in command at Fort Edward? and 
not for Burgoyne and all his Indians need we fear 
while he is there ! So, many thanks, my lord pa- 
troon," she continued, with a mock courtesy; 
" but I 'm just as safe under the Schuyler gables 
as I could be in the Van Rensselaer manor-house, 
even with the brave young patroon himself as my 

The lad looked a little crest-fallen ; for he regard- 
ed himself as the natural protector of this brave lit- 
tle lady, whose father was facing the British invaders- 
on the shores of the Northern lakes. Had it not 
been one of the unwritten laws of the colonic, 
since the day of the first patroon, that a Van Rens- 
selaer should wed a Schuyler ? Who, then, should 
care for a daughter of the house of Schuyler in times 
of trouble but a son of the house of Rensselaer ? 

" Well, at any rate, I shall look out for you if 
danger does come," he said, as he turned toward the 
manor-house. " You '11 surely not object to that, 
will you, Margery?" 

" Why, how can I ?" laughed the girl. " I cer- 
tainly may not prevent a gallant youth from keep- 
ing his eyes in my direction. So, thanks for your 
promise, my lord patroon, and when you see the 
flash of the tomahawk, summon your vassals like 
a noble knight and charge to the rescue of the 
beleaguered maiden of the Fuyck."* And, with a 
stately good-bye to the little lord of seven hun- 
dred thousand acres, the girl hastened homeward 
to the Schuyler mansion, while the boy rode in the 
opposite direction to the great brick manor-house 
by the creek. 

Twenty-four miles east and west, by forty-eight 
miles north and south, covering forest and river, 
valley and hill, stretched the broad colonic of 
the patroons of Rensselaerswyck, embracing the 
present counties of Albany, Rensselaer, and Col- 
umbia, in the State of New York; and over all this 
domain, since the days of the Heer Killian Van 
Rensselaer, first of the lord patroons, father and 
son, in direct descent, had held sway after the man- 
ner of the old feudal barons of Europe. Thev 
alone owned the land, and their hundreds of tenants 
held their farms on rentals or leases, subject to the 
will of the "patroons," as they were called, — a 
Dutch adaptation of the old Roman pa/roiiiis, 
meaning patrician or patron. 

Only the town-lands of Beverwyck, or Albany, 

a territory stretching thirteen miles north-west, by 
one mile wide along the river front, forced from an 
earlier boy patroon by the doughty Peter Stuyve- 
sant, and secured by later English governors, were 
free from this feudal right ; and at the time of 
our story, though the old feudal laws were no 
longer in force and the rentals were less exacting 
than in the earlier days, the tenantry of Rensse- 
laerswyck respected the authority and manorial 
rights of Stephen Van Rensselaer, their boy patroon, 
who, with his widowed mother and his brothers 
and sisters, lived in the big brick manor-house near 
the swift mill creek and the tumbling falls in the 
green vale of Tivoli, a mile north of the city gate. 

And now had come the Revolution. Thanks to 
the teaching of his tender mother, of his gallant 
guardian, and of the good Dominie Westerlo, young 
Stephen knew what the great struggle meant — a 
protest against tyranny, a blow for human rights, 
a defense of the grand doctrine of the immortal 
Declaration that " All men are created free and 
equal." And he had been told, too, that the success 
of the Republic would be the death-blow to all the 
feudal rights to which he. the last of the patroons, 
had succeeded. 

" Uncle," he said to his guardian, that stern 
patriot and whig, General Abram Ten Broek, 
"you are my representative and must act for me 
till I grow to be a man. Do what is best, sir, and 
don't let the Britishers beat ! " 

" But, remember, lad," saidhis uncle, " the Rev- 
olution, if it succeeds, must strip you of all the 
powers and rights that have come to you as pa- 
troon. You will be an owner of acres, nothing 
more; no longer baron, patroon, nor lord of the 
manor; of no higher dignity and condition than 
little Jan Van Woort, the cow-boy of old Luykas 
Oothout on your cattle farm in the Helderbergs." 

"But I'll be a citizen of a free republic, wont 
I, Uncle ? " said the boy ; " as free of the king and 
his court across the sea as Jan Van Woort will be 
of me and the court-leet of Rensselaerswyck. So 
we '11 all start fair and even. I 'm not old enough 
to fight and talk yet, Uncle ; but do you fight and 
talk for me, and I know it will come out all right." 

And so, through the battle-summer of 1777, the 
work went on. Men and supplies were hurried 
northward to help the patriot army, and soon Gen- 
eral Ten Broek's three thousand militia-men were 
ready and anxious for action. The air was full of 
stirring news. Brandt and his Indians. Sir John 
Johnson and his green-coated Tories, swarmed into 
the Mohawk Valley; poor Jane McCrea fell a 
victim to Indian treachery, and the whole northern 
country shuddered at the rumor that twenty dol- 
lars had been offered for every rebel scalp. And 
fast upon these came still other tidings. The 

' The Fuyck, or fishnet. — an old Dutch name for Albany. 

7 i8 



noble General Schuyler, fair Mistress Margery's 
father, had, through the management of his ene- 
mies in the Congress and the camp, been super- 
seded by General Gates ; but, like a true patriot, 
he worked just as hard for victory nevertheless. 
Herkimer had fallen in the savage and uncertain 
fight at Oriskany ; in Bennington, stout old Stark 
had dealt the British a rousing blow, and Bur- 
govne's boast that with ten thousand men he 
could "promenade through America" ended dis- 
mally enough for him in the smoke of Bemis 
Heights and the surrender at Saratoga. 

But, before that glorious ending, many were the 
dark and doubtful days that came to Albany and 
to Rensselaerswyck. Rumors of defeat and disas- 
ter, of plot and pillage, filled the little city. Spies 
and Tories sought to work it harm. The flash of 
the tomahawk, at which Mistress Margery had 
so lightly jested, was really seen in the Schuy- 
ler mansion.* Good Dominie Westerlo kept open 
church and constant prayer for the success of the 
patriot arms through one whole anxious week, and 
on a bright September afternoon, General Ten 
Broek, with a slender escort, came dashing up to 
the "stoop" of the Van Rensselaer manor-house. 

" What now, Uncle? " asked young Stephen, as 
he met the general in the broad hall. 

" More supplies — we must have more supplies, 
lad," replied his uncle. " Our troops need provis- 
ions, and I am here to forage among both friends 
and foes." 

"Beginning with us, I suppose," said the young 
patroon. " O, Uncle, can not I, too, do something 
to show my love for the cause ? " 

" Something, Stephen ? You can do much," his 
uncle replied. "Time was, lad, when your an- 
cestors, the lord patroons of Rensselaerswyck, were 
makers and masters of the law in this their col- 
onic. From their own forts floated their own flag 
and frowned their own cannon. Their word was 
law, and their orders were obeyed without ques- 
tion. Forts and flags and cannon are no longer 
yours, Stephen, and we would not have it other- 
wise ; but your word still holds as good with your 
tenantry as did that of the first patroon. Try it, 
lad. Let me, in the name of the young patroon, 
demand from your tenantry of Rensselaerswyck 
provisions and forage for our gallant troops." 

" O, try it. Uncle, try it — do," young Stephen 
cried, full of interest; "but will they give so much 
heed, think you, to my word ? " 

" Ay, trust them for that," replied the general. 
" So strong is their attachment to their young 
patroon that they will, I know, do more on your 
simple word than on all the orders and levies of the 
Continental Congress." 

So, out into the farm-lands that checkered the 

valley and climbed the green slopes of the Helder- 
bergs, went the orders of the boy patroon, sum- 
moning all "our loyal and loving tenantry" to 
take of their stock and provender all that they 
could spare, save the slight amount needed for 
actual home use, and to deliver the same to the 
commissaries of the army of the Congress at Sara- 
toga. And the " loyal and loving tenantry " gave 
good heed to their patroon's orders. Granaries 
and cellars, stables and pig-sties, pork-barrels and 
poultry-sheds, were emptied of their contents. The 
army of the Congress was amply provisioned, and 
thus, indeed, did the boy patroon contribute his 
share toward the great victory at Saratoga — a 
victory of which one historian remarks that "no 
martial event, from the battle of Marathon to that 
of Waterloo — two thousand years — exerted a 
greater influence upon human affairs." 

The field of Saratoga is won. Six thousand 
British troops have laid down their arms, and the 
fears of northern invasion are ended. In the 
Schuyler mansion at Albany, fair Mistress Margery 
is helping her mother fitly entertain General Bur- 
goyne and the paroled British officers, thus return- 
ing good for evil to the man who, but a few weeks 
before, had burned to the ground her father's 
beautiful country house at Saratoga. Along the 
fair river, from the colonie to the peaks of the 
Katzbergs, the early autumn frosts are painting 
the forest leaves with gorgeous tints, and to-day, 
the first of November, 1777, the children are joy- 
ously celebrating the thirteenth birthday of the boy 
patroon in the big manor-house by the creek. For, 
in Albany, a hundred years ago, a children's 
birthday party really meant a children's party. 
The " grown-folk " left home on that day, and the 
children had free range of the house for their 
plays and rejoicing. So, through the ample 
rooms and the broad halls of the Van Rensselaer 
mansion the children's voices ring merrily, until, 
tired of romp and frolic, the little folks gather 
on the great staircase for rest and gossip. And 
here the fresh-faced little host, in a sky-blue silk 
coat lined with yellow, a white satin vest broidered 
with gold lace, white silk knee-breeches and stock- 
ings tied with pink ribbons, pumps, ruffles, and 
frills, is listening intently while Mistress Margery, 
radiant in her tight-sleeved satin dress, peaked- 
toed and bespangled shoes, and wonderfully ar- 
ranged hair, is telling the group of girls and boys 
all about General Burgoyne and the British officers, 
and how much they liked the real Dutch supper 
her mother gave them one day — " suppawn and 
malckf and rullichies,J with chocolate and soft 
waffles, you know" — and how General the Baron 
Riedcsel had said that if they staid till Christ- 

* See the " Story of a Brave Girl," i 

Nicholas for July, 1883 (p. 665-6). 

t Mush and milk. 

* A kind of chopped meat. 




mas he would play at St. Claes (Santa Claus) for 

" O, Margery!" exclaimed Stephen, "you 
would n't have a Hessian for good old St. Nick, 
would you ? " 

" Why not ? " said Mistress Margery, with a toss 
of her pretty head. " Do you think you are the 
only patroon, my lord Stephen?" 

For Santa Claus was known among the boys 
and girls of those old Dutch days as " the chil- 
dren's patroon " (D? Patroon Van Kindervrengd). 

at the manly-looking little lad, resplendent in blue 
and yellow, and gold lace, and greeted him with a 
rousing birthday cheer — a loyal welcome to their 
boy patroon, their young opfier-hoofdt, or chief. 

" My friends," the lad said, acknowledging their 
greeting with a courtly bow, " I have asked you to 
come to the manor-house on this, my birthday, so 
that I might thank you for what you did for me 
before the Saratoga tight, when you sent so much 
of your stock and produce to the army simply on 
my order. But I wish also to give you something 



But, in the midst of the laughter, a quick step 
sounded in the hall, and General Ten Broek came 
to the children-crowded staircase. " The Hel- 
derberg farmers are here, lad," he said to his 
nephew; and the young patroon, bidding his guests 
keep up the fun while he left them awhile, followed 
his uncle through the door-way and across the 
broad court-yard to where, just south of the manor- 
house, stood the rent-office. As the boy emerged 
from the mansion, the throng of tenants who had 

besides thanks. And so, that you may know how 
much I value your friendship and fealty, I have, 
with my guardian's approval, called you here to 
present to each one of you a free and clear title to 
all the lands you have, until now, held in fee from 
me as the patroon of Rensselaerswyck. Gen- 
eral Ten Broek will give you the papers before you 
leave the office, and Pedrom has a goodly spread 
waiting for you in the lower hall. Take this from 
me, my friends, with many thanks for what you 
have alreadv done for me." 




Then, what a cheer went up. The loyal tenantry 
of the Helderberg farms had neither looked for 
nor expected any special return for their generous 
offerings to the army of the Congress, and this ac- 
tion of the boy patroon filled every farmer's heart 
with something more than gratitude ; for now each 
one of them was a land owner, as free and untram- 

shelter in Hurley ; and here the boys repaired for 
instruction — for school must go on though war 
rages and fire burns. The signs of pillage and 
desolation were all around them ; but, boy-like, they 
thought little of the danger, and laughed heartily 
at Dominie Doll's story of the poor 'Sopus Dutch- 
man, who, terribly frightened at the sight of the 

•;>' /-.v,-,y^;»-. 

^-•*fejr* ,j \# 



meled as the boy patroon himself. And, as fair 
Portia says in the play, 

" So shines a good deed in a naughty world," 

that, when young Stephen Van Rensselaer went 
joyfully back to his children's party, and the Hel- 
derberg farmers to black Pedrom's "spread" in 
the lower hall, it would have been hard to say 
which felt the happier — the giver or the receivers 
of this generous and manly gift. 

The years of battle continued, but Dominie 
Doll's boarding-school, smoked out of 'Sopus when 
the British troops laid Kingston in ashes, found 

enemy, fled wildly across a deserted hay-field, and 
stepped suddenly upon the end of a long hay-rake 
left behind by the " skedadling " farmers. Up 
flew the long handle of the rake and struck the 
terrified Dutchman a sounding whack upon the 
back of his head. He gave himself up for lost, 
" Oh, mein frent, meinfrent /" he cried, dropping 
upon his knees and lifting imploring hands to his 
supposed captors, " I kivs up, I kivs up. Hooray 
for King Shorge ! " 

Nearly two years were passed here upon the 
pleasant hill-slopes that stretch away to the Cats- 
kill ridges and the rugged wildness of the Stony 

S T R A N G E R . 


Clove; and then, in the fall of 1779, when the boy 
patroon had reached his fifteenth birthday, it was 
determined to send him, for still higher education, 
to the College of New Jersey, at Princeton. Of 
that eventful journey of the lad and his half-dozen 
school-fellows, under military escort, from the hills 
of the Upper Hudson to the shot-scarred college 
on the New Jersey plains, a most interesting story 
could be told. I doubt whether many, if any, 
boys ever went to school under such delightfully 
exciting circumstances. For their route lay 
through a war-worried section ; past the dismantled 
batteries of Stony Point, where mad Anthony- 
Wayne had gained so much glory and renown ; 
past the Highland fortresses, and through the ranks 
of the Continental Army, visiting General Wash- 
ington at his head-quarters at West Point, and 
carrying away never-forgotten recollections of the 
great commander; cautiously past roving bands 
of cruel "cow-boys" and the enemy's outposts 
around captured New York, to the battered college 
buildings which had alternately been barracks and 
hospital for American and British troops. And an 
equally interesting story could be told of the excit- 
ing college days when, almost within range of the 
enemy's guns, the boom of the distant cannon would 
come like a punctuation in recitations, and the fear 
of fusillades would help a boy through many a 
"tight squeeze" in neglected lessons. But this 
was education under difficulties. The risk be- 
came too great, and the young patroon was finally 
transferred to the quieter walls of Harvard Col- 
lege, from which celebrated institution he gradu- 
ated with honor in 1782, soon after his eighteenth 

The quiet life of an average American boy would 
not seem to furnish very much worth the telling. 
The boy patroon differed little, save in the way of 
birth and vast estate, from other boys and girls of the 
eventful age in which he lived; but many incidents 
in his youthful career could safely be recorded. 
We might tell how he came home from college 
just as the great war was closing ; how he made 
long trips, on horseback and afoot, over his great 
estate, acquainting himself with his tenantry and 
their needs ; how, even before he was twenty years 

old, he followed the custom of his house and mar- 
ried fair Mistress Margery, the " brave girl " of the 
Schuyler mansion, according to the St. NICHOLAS 
story ; and how, finally, on the first of November, 
1785, all the tenantry of Rensselaerswyck thronged 
the grounds of the great manor-house, and, with 
speech and shout and generous barbecue,celebrated 
his coming of age — the twenty-first birthday of 
the boy patroon — now no longer boy nor patroon, 
but a free American citizen in the new Republic 
of the United States. 

His after-life is part of the history of his State 
and of his country. At an early age he entered 
public life, and filled many offices of trust and re- 
sponsibility. An assemblyman, a state senator, a 
lieutenant-governor, a member of Congress, a ma- 
jor-general, and the conqueror of Oueenstown in the 
war of 1812, one of the original projectors of the 
great Erie Canal, and, noblest of all, the founder 
and patron of a great school for boys, — the Rens- 
selaer Polytechnic Institute at Troy, — he was, 
through all, the simple-hearted citizen and the 
noble-minded man. But no act in all his long 
life-time of seventy-five years became him better 
than the spirit in which he accepted the great 
change that made the great lord patroon of half a 
million acres the plain, untitled citizen of a free 

" Though born to hereditary honors and aristo- 
cratic rank," says his biographer, " with the history 
of the past before him, in possession of an estate 
which connected him nearly with feudal times and 
a feudal ancestry, and which constituted him in his 
boyhood a baronial proprietor, he found himself, 
at twenty-one, through a forcible and bloody revo- 
lution, the mere fee-simple owner of acres, with 
just such political rights and privileges as belonged 
to his own freehold tenantry, and no other." And 
though the Revolution, in giving his country in- 
dependence, had stripped him of power and per- 
sonal advantages, he accepted the change without 
regret, and preferred his position as one in a whole 
nation of freemen to that feudal rank which he 
had inherited from generations of ancestors, as the 
Boy Patroon, the last Lord of the Manor of Rens- 

By Bessie Chandler. 

An old man went by the window. 
Shrunken and bent with care; 
He 'd a scythe swung over his shoulder 
And white were his beard and hair. 

My little one earnestly watched him 
Up the hilly roadside climb, — 
Then said, in a tone of conviction, 
" Mamma, that was Father Time ! " 





By Susan Anna Brown. 

Some writer has defined a picnic as "a day's 
laborious frolicking, under the impression that 
you are having a good time"; and that is cer- 
tainly an excellent description of some out-of-door 
entertainments. But almost all of us can recall 
some picnics which were not at all "laborious," 
and of which even the recollection is very pleasant. 

It is possible that you have heard your mothers 
express some dismay at the thought of fitting out 
a party for a day in the woods. It seems to bring 
up to them visions of baskets which must be filled 
with a variety of eatables, difficult to procure, and 
almost impossible to pack. A person needs to 
live through a generation of picnics in order to 
know the easiest and best way of carrying them 

One common mistake is that of taking too much 
food. The result is that it must either be brought 
back, not at all improved by the journey, or else 
wastefully thrown away. This trouble usually 
arises from want of forethought. Have it clearly 
understood beforehand what part of the lunch each 
person is to provide. This will be less trouble 
for each one, and the necessary quantity can be 
easily estimated. One should provide all the 
bread and butter, another the cold meat, another 
the cake, and so on. Pack the articles with care, 
so that their appearance will not be injured in 
carrying them. Always take the bread in the 
loaf, as it dries so quickly after it is cut. Press 
the butter into a cup, and push a bit of ice into 
the center to keep it cool. Spread each slice 
before cutting it from the loaf. Have a sharp 
knife and you will find it easy to cut it thin with- 
out breaking the slices. Cake should never be 
cut beforehand, as it is in that case sure to crum- 
ble. Wrap the food tightly in old napkins, which 
can be lost without breaking a set. Japanese 
paper napkins are not strong enough to keep the 
loaves in shape, but they are very useful in serv- 
ing the lunch. 

Cold meat should be sliced, sprinkled with salt, 
and wrapped in a damp napkin, or put in a tin 

Be careful to have nothing in the baskets which 
can be spilled. All liquids should be put into 
tightly closed bottles or jars. Sugar and salt in 
boxes, with the covers carefully secured. A large 
piece of ice is very desirable. The only objection 
to taking it is the weight ; but if it is put in a 
tightly covered pail, it can be carried without 

much inconvenience, and a supply of cold water 
will be very refreshing. 

Do not try to take too many dishes. They are 
very heavy, and if you can not be content without 
all the comforts of a well-appointed table, you had 
better stay at home, and eat in peace in a conven- 
ient dining-room. A wooden plate for each of the 
company is almost indispensable. These are very 
light, and cheap enough to be thrown away after 
using. A cup or tumbler should be provided for 
every one. Tin teaspoons are also a great con- 
venience. Sometimes they are ornamented with 
a bit of bright ribbon, and brought home in 
remembrance of the day. A table-cloth should be 
carried, and each should bring what is necessary 
in serving his or her part of the entertainment. 
A can-opener and fork for sardines, a spoon for 
jelly, etc. 

It is much easier to squeeze the lemons for the 
lemonade and put the sugar with the juice, before 
leaving home. A pound of sugar is about the 
right quantity for a cup of lemon juice. It can 
be carried in a glass jar, and will only need the 
addition of water when it is to be used. 

If coffee is to be made in the woods, you will 
need to take for a party of twelve at least three 
cups of ground coffee. This should be tied in a 
flannel bag, allowing room for it to swell; and 
when you have three quarts of water boiling hot, 
throw in the bag of coffee, and let it boil fifteen or 
twenty minutes before serving. 

This is all very pleasant, especially as you can 
roast potatoes or green corn in the ashes ; but it 
should never be attempted unless some of the 
party are experienced in the matter. To safely 
kindle a fire out-of-doors requires considerable 
skill, as some unnoticed spark or creeping line of 
flame may reach the dry grass and bushes, and 
break out hours afterward into a serious forest- 

When the time comes to unpack the baskets, 
let two or three of the girls spread the cloth, and 
arrange everything as tastefully as possible, with 
the ready ornamentation of flowers or ferns, if 
they like. They must be careful, however, not to 
sacrifice convenience to effect. It is much better 
to avoid as far as possible the necessity of passing 
the dishes. Put several plates of bread and butter 
on the cloth, and divide the other eatables in the 
same way, as reaching is almost impossible when 
the table-cloth is spread on the grass. 

i88 4 .] 

I' I C N I C S . 


After the meal is finished do not let the debris 
remain, but re-pack the baskets at once. Put back 
neatly the food which is left, remembering that if 
you do not want it, some one else may. See that 
the dishes and napkins are put into the baskets 
from whence they came, and do not leave an un- 
sightly pile of banana-skins and sardine boxes to 
disfigure the place for the next picnic party, but 
throw them all out of sight. 

The most important part of a picnic, however, 
is not the weather or the place or the dinner. 
You may choose the most beautiful spot in the 
world, and spread the most delicious lunch ever 
prepared, and yet have the whole thing a complete 
failure, simply because the company was not well 
selected. Out-of-doors, where people are free 
from formality, unless they are congenial friends, 
and what Mrs. Whitney calls " Real Folks," they 
will be likely to feel ill at ease, and miss the sup- 
port given by company clothes and manners. 
Small picnics, for this reason among others, are 
usually much pleasanter than large picnics. 

In making up the party, be sure to leave be- 
hind the girl who is certain to be too warm or too 
cold, or to think some other place better than the 
one where she is, and who has "a horrid time," 
if she has to submit to any personal inconvenience 
for the sake of others ; and with her, the boy who 
loves to tease, and who is quite sure that his way 
is the only good way. Put into their places some 
others, young or old, who have a taste for simple 
pleasures, and are ready to help others to enjoy 

Next in importance to the company is the place. 
It must not be at a great distance, or you will all 
be tired, not to say cross, when you arrive there. 
It must be reasonably shady, and not too far from 
a supply of good drinking water. If the company 
are to walk, you must be especially careful not to 
be overburdened with baskets and wraps, as carry- 
ing all that is necessary, even for half a mile, is 
not easy, and the bundles which seemed so light 
when you started are sure to weigh down heavily 
before you reach your destination. Be careful to 
have this work fairly distributed. 

Never start until you are sure that you know 
just where you are going, and the best way of get- 
ting there. Wandering about to choose a place, 
and thinking constantly to find one more desirable, 
is very fatiguing. That matter should be settled 
beforehand by two or three of the party, and the 
others should go straight to the spot, and make 
the best of it. If any do not like it, they can 
choose a different place when their turn comes to 

make the selection. As the ground is always more 
or less damp, be sure to spread down plenty of 
shawls, and do not let a foolish fear of appearing 
over-careful cost you a cold which may lead to a 
severe illness. 

In regard to the matter of dress, fine clothes 
are never more out of place than at a picnic. 
Thick, comfortable shoes and clothing which will 
not be injured are always in fashion among sen- 
sible people for such occasions. 

Those who truly love the woods will not be at a 
loss for amusement, in wandering about, seeking 
flowers, or in search of the finest views. Perhaps 
some of the company can sketch a little, and even 
if they attempt nothing more difficult than a 
bunch of grasses or a rustic seat, they will find 
pleasant occupation, and secure for themselves a 
little souvenir of every excursion. 

Singing is better still; for those who can not join 
in this can have the pleasure of listening to others. 

Sometimes all the party will like to unite in 
games. If the day is warm, these must be of the 
quiet kind ; but if the weather will allow, it is al- 
ways pleasant for young and old to join in the 
active sports which are usually left to little folk. 

People on a picnic must lay aside their conven- 
tionalism, and come down to the simple pleasures 
of childhood. Only remember always that there 
is a certain sort of self-respecting dignity which 
can never be laid aside, and be careful not to let 
your fun degenerate into a rude romp which you 
will be ashamed to remember afterward. 

All sorts of pleasant amusements will suggest 
themselves to sociable people, and there will be no 
fear that the time will drag heavily, unless you have 
made the mistake of planning to stay too long. 

It is always better to come away while you all 
are enjoying yourselves than it is to wait until the 
fun begins to grow tiresome, and most of the party 
hail the proposal to start for home with ill-con- 
cealed relief. It is better to have it close like Sam 
Weller's valentine, while they " wish there was 
more of it." 

But oh, the coming back ! Let each one watch 
tongue and temper carefully ; for the memory of 
many a pleasant picnic has been spoiled by hasty 
words from those who seemed the most amiable 
of the party when they started in the morning. 
It is so much easier to be smiling and good-na- 
tured with a pleasant day in prospect, than it is 
when one returns, sun-burned, tired, and dusty, with 
a general feeling that all the fun is over. And 
even a picnic is not "all well " unless it "ends 






By Charles Barnard. 

For twelve days the steamer had been steaming 
on and on toward the western horizon, and, just as 
fast, the horizon had seemed to fly away, leaving 
the ship always in the center of the great circle. 
Soon the magical change was to come, and the 
land would appear to rise out of the water. Al- 
ready the sea-gulls had come back ; the sun was 
warmer, and it seemed as if we were coming to a 
new country. 

Every one was on deck, watching for the first 
sight of the land. More than a thousand men, 
women, and children were on board, — and to 
most of them the great continent just under that 
pale blue horizon was a land of hope and promise. 
Land must be very near, for at the foremast 
head a sailor ran up a new flag. It seemed 
to flutter over them all in a friendly way, and 
perhaps some of them looked at it with new 
hope and fresh courage. 

"Fire Island abeam!" cried out the sailor on 
the lookout. Every one gazed off to the right. 
There it stood, just a gray tower, apparently stand- 
ing up in the water. Strange they had not noticed 
it before. Then some one began to point at a blue 
cloud low down on the water. Was it mist, or fog. 
— or something else? The forward deck was 
packed with people of every nation and tongue, 
and all were of the great nation of poor people, 
which somehow seems to be the greatest nation of 
all. There had been loud laughter, talking, and 
confusion of tongues for days. Now, under the 
intense white sunlight, the warm, languid air, and 
the faint smell of land, they were hushed and 
silent. The new home was rising from the sea. 
Slowly the wonders grew, — the great mass of 
the Highlands with its two white eyes ever look- 
ing down on the sea ; the magic city on the white 
beaches ; the strange ships and boats ; the vast 
bay and the rising shores, green with deep woods ; 
then the grand entrance between the gray old 
forts, so different from European forts; the harbor, 
the great river, the wonderful bridge, and the 

By tens of thousands, month after month, year 
after year, just such throngs of people sail into 
New York harbor, looking for liberty and a fair 
chance in the world. Once a certain man from 
France was on board one of these ships, as it 
sailed into the bay. Perhaps he too saw the great 
assemblage of the emigrants looking in hope and 
wonder on the new land ; and the thought came 

to him — What a joy and encouragement it would 
be to these people if they should see some- 
thing to welcome them, to remind them that this 
is a republic. What if there stood, like a great 
guardian, at the entrance of the continent, a 
colossal statue — a grand figure of a woman hold- 
ing aloft a torch, and symbolizing Liberty enlight- 
ening the World! 

The man was a sculptor, and his name was 
Auguste Bartholdi. When he went home to 
France, he broached his idea of the great statue, 
and discussed it with his friends and acquaint- 
ances. Some doubted, but others approved ; 
gradually, many people — including leading men 
of the nation — became interested in the scheme ; 
and, after several years of working and waiting, 
the money required for building the statue came in 
from the rich and the poor of France. The 
French people decided to build the statue, and to 
present it to the American people. 

When the sculptor conceived the idea of the 
statue, he, no doubt, thought of the different ways 
in which it could be made. It could be carved in 
stone or cast in metal. Think of a stone statue 
almost one hundred and fifty feet high, — higher 
than many a church-steeple, and about as high as 
the arch of the Brooklyn Bridge. Who could lift 
it into place? Who could carve such a monster ? 
It might be constructed of smaller stones put 
together. But that would never do. The cracks 
between the stones would show, and it would be 
liable to fall to pieces. The Obelisk in Central 
Park is in one stone, but then its height is less 
than half the height named for the proposed 
statue. Clearly, stone would never do. Could it 
be cast in bronze — even in small pieces — and 
then put together ? Not easily ; it would be too 
heavy and too costly. 

At one time a certain sculptor, called " II Cerano," 
built a colossal statue near Arona, on the shore of 
Lake Maggiore, in Italy. It was made on quite a 
different plan from those employed with carved 
statues or with statues cast in bronze. It was 
made of copper, in thin sheets, laid upon a frame 
or skeleton of stone, wood, and iron. Such a 
method of work is called repousse, which means 
" hammered " work, because the thin sheets of 
metal are hammered into shape. Bartholdi, the 
projector of the great statue of Liberty, decided 
that it, too, must be done in repousse, or sheets of 
hammered bronze. 




So when the money for the work had been fully 
secured, the actual labor began ; and a strange, 
curious labor it was. First, there had to be a sketch 
or model. This was a figure of the statue in clay, 
to give an idea of how it would look. The public 
approved of this model, and then the first real study 
of the work was made, — a plaster statue, just one- 
sixteenth the size of the intended statue. 

The next step was to make another model just 
four times as large, or one-fourth the size of the 
real statue. Now the model began to assume 

way, and then to lay out the full-size plan it was only 
necessary to make a plan of each section four times 
as large as the section actually was in the model. 
Every part of the model was covered with marks or 
dots for guides, and by measuring from dot to dot, 
increasing the measurement four times, and then 
transferring it to the larger model, an exact copy 
just four times as large was made. For each of 
these large sections, however, there had to be a 
support of some kind, before the plaster could be 
laid on. Having marked on the floor an outline 


something of the proportions intended, and it was 
carefully studied and worked over to make it as 
perfect as possible. This quarter-size model being 
finished, then came the task of making the full-size 
model in plaster. But this had to be made in sec- 
tions. For instance, the first section would include 
the base on which the figure stood, the feet, and 
the hem of the garment. The next section would 
include a circle quite round the long flowing dress, 
just above the hem. The third section would stand 
above this and show more of the folds of the dress, 
and reach part way up to the knee. In like manner, 
the whole figure would be divided into sections. 
The quarter-size model was first divided in this 

plan of the enlarged section, a wooden frame-work 
was built up inside the plan. Then upon this 
frame-work plaster was roughly spread. It soon re- 
sembled, in a rude way, the corresponding section 
of the quarter-size model, but was four times as 
large. Then the workmen copied in this pile of 
plaster every feature of the model section, measur- 
ing and measuring, again and again, from dot to dot, 
correcting by means of plumb-lines, and patiently 
trying and retrying till an exact copy — only in 
proportions four times as large — was attained. 

The picture on this page shows the wooden frame 
of one of the hands, and a portion of the plaster 
alreadv laid on the frame. 


The great irregularity of the drapery made it 
necessary to put three hundred marks on each 
section, besides twelve hundred smaller guide- 
marks, in order to insure an exact correspond- 
ence in proportion between the enlarged sections 
of the full-size model and the sections of the 
quarter-size model. Each of these marks, more- 

ters. Each piece was a mold of a part of the 
statue, exactly fitting every projection, depression, 
and curve of that portion of the figure or drapery. 
Into these wooden molds sheets of metal were 
laid, and pressed or beaten down till they fitted the 
irregular surfaces of the molds. All the repousse, 
or hammered work, was done from the back, or 


over, had to be measured three times on both 
models, and after that came all the remeasure- 
ments, to prove that not a single mistake had 
been made. 

When these sections in plaster had been com- 
pleted, then came the work of making wooden 
molds that should be exact copies both in size and 
modeling of the plaster. These were all carefully 
made by hand. It was a long, tedious, and diffi- 
cult piece of work ; but there are few workmen 
who could do it better than these French carpen- 

inside, of the sheet. If the mold is an exact copy 
of a part of the statue, it is easy to see that the 
sheet of metal, when made to fit it. will, when 
taken out and turned over, be a copy of that part of 
the statue. 

These sheets were of copper, and each was from 
one to three yards square. Each formed a part of 
the bronze statue, and of course no two were alike. 

In this complicated manner, by making first a 
sketch, then a quarter-size model, then a full-size 
model in sections, then hundreds of wooden copies. 




and lastly by beating into shape three hundred 
sheets of copper, the enormous statue was finished. 
These three hundred bent and hammered plates, 
weighing in all eighty-eight tons, form the out- 
side of the statue. They are very thin, and while 
they fit each other perfectly, it is quite plain that if 
they were put together in their proper order they 
would never stand alone. It would be like building 
a dwelling-house out of boards placed on edge. 
It would surely tumble down by its own weight or 
be blown over by the first storm. These ham- 
mered sheets make the outside of the statue : but 
there must be also a skeleton, a bony structure 
inside, to hold it together. This is of iron beams, 
firmly riveted together, and making a support to 
which the copper shell can be fastened. 

On page 731 is a picture of the great statue par- 
tially finished. The lower half of the figure appears 
almost completed. Above that can be seen, inside 
the staging, the great iron skeleton that supports 
the figure. High above the staging rise the iron 
bones of the uplifted arm, — not a handsome arm 
as yet, because it is not clothed with its rich, dark 
copper skin. The houses seen in the background 
give a good idea of the height and proportions of the 
great statue. The head and the hand, already fin- 
ished, can be seen on the ground at the left of 
the statue. The right hand and torch were made 
first, and were shown at the Centennial Exhibition 
at Philadelphia in 1876, and, after that, were for 
some time erected in Madison Square, New York 
City. The head was also shown in Paris at the time 
of the last exposition. A picture on page 730 
shows the head as it stood in the work-shop. 

In erecting such a great statue, two things had 
to be considered that seem very trifling, and yet, 
if neglected, might destroy the statue in one day, 
or cause it to crumble slowly to pieces. One is the 
sun, the other is the sea breeze. Either of these 
could destroy the great copper figure, and some- 
thing must be done to prevent such a disaster. 
The heat of the sun would expand the metal and 
pull it out of shape, precisely as it does pull the 
Brooklyn Bridge out of shape every day. The 
bridge is made in four parts, and when they ex- 
pand with the heat of the sun they slide one past 
the other, and no harm is done. The river span 
rises and falls day and night, as heat and cold al- 
ternate. The great copper statue is likewise in 
two parts, the frame-work of iron and the copper 
covering ; and while they are securely fastened to- 
gether they can move one over the other. Each 
bolt will slip a trifle as the copper expands in the 
hot August sunshine, and slide back again when 
the freezing winds blow and the vast figure shrinks 
together in the cold. Besides this, the copper 
surface is so thin and elastic that it will bend 

slightly when heated and still keep its general 

The salt air blowing in from the sea has thin 
fingers and a bitter, biting tongue. If it finds a 
crack where it can creep in between the copper 
surface and iron skeleton, there will be trouble at 
once. These metals do not agree together, and 
where there is salt moisture in the air they seem to 
quarrel more bitterly than ever. It seems that 
every joining of points of copper and iron makes a 
tiny battery, and so faint shivers of electricity 
would run through all the statue, slowly cor- 
roding and eating it into dust. This curious, 
silent, and yet sure destruction must be pre- 
vented, and so every joint throughout the statue, 
wherever copper touches iron, must be pro- 
tected with little rags stuffed between the metals 
to keep them from quarreling. It is the same 
wherever two different metals touch each other. Im- 
agine what a tremendous battery the Liberty would 
make, with its tons of copper surface and monstrous 
skeleton of iron. However, a little care prevents 
all danger, as provision will be made, of course, 
for keeping the metals from touching each other. 

When, in 1870, Bartholdi sailed into our beauti- 
ful bay, andhad his grand day-dream of this wonder- 
ful bronze figure lifting aloft her torch, he saw away 
to the south-west of the Battery, and opposite the 
New Jersey shore, a grassy island on which stood a 
stone fort. 

This island, which contains only twelve acres, lies 
about a mile and a half south of Jersey City, and 
all vessels going in or out of port must pass it. It 
is also in full view of the lower parts of New York 
and Brooklyn. To the west and south spreads the 
wide bay, with the low Jersey shore and the blue 
Orange Mountains beyond. To the south rise the 
hills of Staten Island and the Narrows, with a 
glimpse of the sea between. On clear days, even 
the Highlands can be seen glimmering on the far 
southern horizon, nearly thirty miles away. 

And here, alone on an island, but in sight of 
three cities, the great statue of Liberty will stand. 
Her torch, indeed, will be in plain sight of all the 
cities round about; Newark, the Oranges, all the 
white villages clinging to the hills beyond, the 
summer cities by the sea, and that green and 
wooded city that with dull white eyes looks down 
on the bay from the silent hills on Long Island. 
Two million people can plainly see the great bronze 
figure from their homes, and another million, in 
country homes, will see her lamp by night ; while 
men, women, and children of every nation will 
pass in ships beneath her mighty shadow. 

They call the place where the statue is to stand 
Bedloe's Island, because old Isaac Bedloe, a sturdy 
Dutchman of New Amsterdam, bought it of the 





Copyright, 1884, by Root & Tinker. 

The colossal Statue by A. Bartholdi, to be erected on Bedloe's Island. New York Harbor. 

Vol. XI. — 47- 




colonial government. We do not know much about 
him, except that he died in 1672. However, we 
may confidently assume that the island was seen by 
Hendrick Hudson when he first explored the Hud- 
son River. The Dutch colonists must have passed 
close to it on their way to Communipaw, where they 
first settled before they founded New Amsterdam. 
Afterward, during the Revolution, it was called 
Kennedy's Island, as Captain Kennedy, command- 
er of the British naval station in New York, 
bought it. He built a house upon the island 
and used it as a summer residence. At the end 
of the war it became the property of the State of 
New York, and at the time of the yellow fever 
alarm, in 1797. it was used as a quarantine for a 
short time. In iSooit was given by the State to 
the United States, and in 1814 the Government 
began to build a fort on the island. In 1841 the 
present star-shaped fort was built, at a cost of 
$213,000. It was thought at the time to be a 
fine affair, as it would mount over seventy guns 
and hold a garrison of three hundred and fifty 
men. During the Rebellion the place was used 
as an hospital, and a number of hospital buildings 
were built on the island. With this exception, the 

or men. And the great guns now used on ships 
would soon shell to pieces a stone fort like that on 
Bedloe's Island. 

It is a queer place, indeed, and reminds one of 


fort has never been practically utilized. We are 
not at war with any one, nor do we wish to harm 
any nation ; so it happens that this, like many of 
our forts, has never been fully supplied with guns 


the illustrations in an old picture-book. As you go 
up from the wharf on the east side, you cross a road 
that follows the top of the sea-wall, and come at 
once to the outside battery, already falling to ruin. 
Here are a few rusty old guns, and behind them 
rise the granite walls of the fort. There are on the 
west side an arched entrance, a moat, and a place for 
a draw-bridge — like those of an old castle. In the 
south-east corner is a sally-port, a cavern-like en- 
trance, dark and crooked and closed by massive 
iron doors, not unlike the doors of a big safe. 
Within the fort there was a parade-ground, or 
open space, a few houses for the men and officers, 
and immense tanks for storing water, and great 
bomb-proof vaults where the men could hide if the 
shells flew too thick. 

It was decided that the lofty pedestal for the 
statue should be built in the square within the fort. 
The parade-ground, however, appeared to be level 
sand. Clearly, it would not do to rest so great a 
weight on sand, and it would be necessary, there- 
fore, to make excavations until a firm foundation 
was secured, far below. This, seemed an easy 
task, but it proved to be an exceedingly difficult 
one. Under the parade-ground were the old 
water- tanks, the store-rooms, and bomb-proof 
vaults, and these were of solid brick and stone, 
very heavily built. 

i88 4 . 



A pit or excavation, ninety feet square, was 
made and was carried deep enough to go below 
the fort to the solid ground beneath. Then the 
great pit had to be filled up again with some 
material that would not yield or sag. For this 
purpose, wet concrete was used — a mixture of 
cement, broken stones, and water. As soon as it 

dation on which the pedestal is to be built. The 
pedestal will be eighty feet high, and the base of 
the statue will rest upon the top of the pedestal. 

At the beginning of this year the filled-in founda- 
tion had reached to the level of the old parade- 
ground, and at the same time came the news from 
Paris that the statue was finished. The last sheet 




is put into place and beaten down, it hardens and 
becomes like stone. Layer after layer of concrete 
was put in, till the whole pit was filled up solidly. 
The mass of concrete is fifty-three feet deep and 
ninety feet square at the bottom. It will be like 
one solid block of stone-work, sunk deep in the 
ground, and rising to the level of the broad walk on 
top of the walls of the fort ; but it is only the foun- 

of dark bronze-colored copper was ready, and 
every bar and beam and bolt of the large iron 
skeleton was complete. As you are reading this, 
preparations are making to go on with the work on 
our side. The French people have done their 
part. They have built and paid for the statue, 
and it lies ready to be sent over in hundreds of 
pieces, each marked, and ready to be fitted together 

73 2 



to form the immense figure. Now it is our turn. 
The statue is a gift — a free present of respect and 
good-will from the people of France. It is our 
part to receive it with honor, and put it up in 
the place assigned to it. America is to build the 
pedestal on which the great bronze figure will 

The pedestal will be of stone, rising in a massive 
square eighty-two feet above the ground. The 
solid block of concrete will be hidden under the 
grass, securely holding up the pedestal and the 
statue above. There will be stair-ways within the 
pedestal and balconies near the top, commanding 
a fine view of the beautiful bay and the three cities. 
The figure itself, from the top of the head to the 
foot, on which it stands posed as if about to step 
forward, is one hundred and ten feet and a half 
high ; the forefinger is eight feet long and four feet 
in circumference at the second joint ; the head is 
fourteen feet high, and forty persons can stand 
within it. There will be a stair-way within the 
statue, leading to the head, and another in the ex- 
tended arm, by which ascent may be made into the 
torch, which will hold fifteen persons. A great 
light will be placed in the torch, and the pointed 
diadem, encircling the head, will be studded with 
electric lights. The total weight of the statue, 
including both the iron skeleton and the copper 
covering, will, it is said, amount to one hundred 
thousand pounds. 

As the summer advances, the work on the ped- 
estal will be resumed ; if all goes well, the corner- 
stone will be laid on the 4th of July, 1884. When 
the entire pedestal is finished, the great Liberty, in 
hundreds of separate pieces, will arrive from France; 
and then will come the grand work of putting the 
noble statue together. It will be well worth seeing, 
for it will be a repetition, in part, of the curious 
work of building it. The pedestal being finished, 
the first step will be to fasten the great iron frame- 
work securely to the stone-work. Long bolts will 
extend deep into the pedestal, and be anchored 
firmly in the concrete, so that nothing less than an 
earthquake can ever throw the structure down. 
The skeleton in place, then will come the work 
of putting on the thin plates of copper that make 
the outside of the figure. These pieces will be 
fastened with bolts that will not show on the out- 
side, and the joints between the sheets will be so 
fine that it will be difficult to find them, and so 
the work will appear from the outside like one solid 
piece of rich dark bronze. 

In Union Square, New York, and facing the 
statue of Washington, is a bronze figure of Lafa- 
yette. It represents a man, of graceful figure and 
handsome, open face, in the act of making offer of 
his sword to' the country he admired — the country 
that sorely needed his aid. The left hand is ex- 
tended as if in greeting and friendly self-surrender, 
and the right hand, which holds the sword, is 
pressed against the breast as if implying that his 
whole heart goes with his sword. The statue well 
expresses the warm and generous devotion which, 
as we all know, the French Marquis rendered to 
this country during the War of the Revolution, 
and is a fitting memorial to the noble friend of 
Washington and of America. Look at this statue 
the next time you pass Union Square or visit 
New York City. For it, also, was designed by 
Bartholdi — who planned the great bronze Liberty. 
He has made many other statues, and almost 
every one seems to have this strong and vigorous 
character, and to embody and express a meaning 
that all who see can understand. He has done 
good work, and we need have no fear that after 
the great figure is complete it will not be grand or 
beautiful. But no matter how imposing its appear- 
ance, it might be a failure, in one sense, if it 
did not clearly express a meaning. The Lafayette 
in Union Square seems ready to speak. And so, 
too, the new Liberty evidently has something to say. 

What will this grand figure mean ? Well, in 
the first place, it will commemorate the generous 
part which the French played in the War of Inde- 
pendence, one hundred years ago. And it will 
represent the good-will and kindly feeling existing 
between the two nations which are, to-day, the 
only republics among the leading nations of the 
world. But there is a still wider meaning in this 
noble statue, and it is this meaning which the 
sculptor has embodied in the pose and expression 
of the figure itself. This colossal statue stands for 
Liberty enlightening the World. In one hand she 
lifts aloft a torch ; in the other she clasps a book. 
Perhaps the book means law, or right doing. She 
stands for liberty ; but it is the true, unselfish 
liberty which respects the rights of others. More- 
over, she stands for the people. She means that, 
under the shadow of liberty, the people are greater 
than king or emperor; that peace is better than 
war, friendship wiser than enmity, love and re- 
spect better than selfishness and unkindness ; and 
that liberty is for all peoples throughout the wide 

i88 4 .] 



S U M M E R 


By Nellie M. Garabrant. 

There 's a dandy little fellow 

Who dresses all in yellow, — 
In yellow with an overcoat of green ; 

With his hair all crisp and curly, 

In the spring-time bright and early, 
A-tripping o'er the meadow he is seen. 

Through all the bright June weather, 
Like a jolly little tramp, 
He wanders o'er the hillside, down the road : 

Around his yellow feather. 
The gypsy fire-flies camp ; 
His companions are the woodlark and the toad. 

Spick and spandy, little dandy, 
Golden dancer in the dell ! 

Green and yellow, happy fellow. 
All the little children love him well ! 

But at last this little fellow 

Doffs his dandy coat of yellow, 
And very feebly totters o'er the green; — 

For he very old is growing, 

And with hair all white and flowing 
A-nodding in the sunlight he is seen. 

The little winds of morning 

Come a-flying through the grass, 
And clap their hands around him in their glee ; 

They shake him without warning. — 
His wig falls off, alas ! 
And a little bald-head dandy now is he. 

Oh, poor dandy, once so spandy, 
Golden dancer on the lea ! 

Older growing, white hair flowing, 
Poor little bald-head dandv now is he ! 





I AM a little fish, 
a Toad-fish. One 
bright day I looked 
up out of the water 
and saw Daisy sit- 
ting on the stone 
wall, fishing. Near 
her sat Aunt May, 
making a picture 
— perhaps a pict- 
ure of me, I 
thought. I swam 
up to see what it 
was, and just then 
Daisy dropped her 
line, bob, hook, 
sinker, pole and 
all, into the water. 
" Oh, Aunty 
May," said Daisy, 
"what shall I do ?" 
Aunty May called a boy who was playing on the rocks. 
" Please, little boy," said she, " go get a boat and pick up Daisy's fish- 
line, and I will give you ten cents." 

Off ran the boy, and soon a boat came over my head, and soon I saw 
Daisy all smiling again, with the fish-line in her hand ; and the little boy all 
smiling, with the money in his hand ; and Aunt May all smiling, with her 
paint-brush in her hand. Daisy looked down at me, and I saw her eyes 
shining as bright as my scales, and I thought I would like to go up and see 
her. She dropped a piece of good beef into the water. I opened my mouth 
wide, and down went the beef and the hook inside of it, and up went I. 

The hook did not stick into me. I was caught by the big thing in my 
throat, and was just going to choke, when somebody pulled it out, and 
popped me into a round thing with water in it, all shiny, with other fishes 
swimming round the sides, who kept bumping me with their noses. Sud- 
denly I saw Daisy and somebody else looking at me. " That is a Toad- 

i88 4 .l 



fish," said the other somebody; 
" he lives under a stone at the 
bottom of the water." 

I wonder how she knew that 
— and then she poked me, and 
bothered me so — you may be 
sure I was glad when Aunt May 
came up and said : 

" Keep still, little fish, I 'm 
going to make a picture of you." 

I felt very proud, and kept 
just as still as I could. Then the 
round thing began to move, it 
turned upside down, and there 
I was again in my sea home ! 
Mother, and all my brothers and 
sisters were having dinner off 
the rest of the bait Daisy threw 
overboard, and they began to 
scold me, but I said : " Just wait till you hear where I 've been, and how 
I 've had my picture taken ! " So they all sat down and heard this story, 
which they said was good enough to print. I think so, too. Do you ? 




©he St. Nicholas ^lmanag 



It is the merry circus time, and the Sun must have his 
So he goes to see the Lion, a-lying in his lair. 










Sun on 

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12. 6 

Holidays and Incidents. 

Adm'ble Crichton, d.1582 
Klopstock, b. 1724. 
Louis Xl.of Fr'ce, b. 1423. 
Independence Day. 

4th Sunday after Trinity. 

La Fontaine, b. 1621. 

John Calvin, b. 1509. 
Alex. Hamilton, d. 1804. 
CaiusJ. Caesar, b. 100 B.C. 
5th Sunday after Trinity. 
Mme. De Stael, d. 1817. 

Sirjos'a Reynolds, b. 1723. 
Isaac Watts, b. 1674. 

(i close to Aldebaran. 
(( near Saturn. 
Cth Sunday after Trinity. 
Robert Burns, d. 1796. 
Garibaldi, b. 1807. 

Jane Austen, d. 1817. 
Thos. a Kempis, d. 1471. 
C close to Mars. 
7th Sunday after Trinity. 
(I near Spica. 
Albert I. ofGer., b. 1289. 
Sebastian Bach, d. 1750. 
Andrew Johnson, d. 1875. 

Sport tor the Month. 

'T is the month of July, see all the flags fly, 
Cannons bang, bells go clang, 
And all the time the crackers pop, 
As if they never were going to stop. 

Evening Skies for Young Astronomers. 

(See Introduction, page 255, St. Nicholas for January.)* 

July 15th, 8.30 p.m. 

One month has sufficed to dispel the glory of the western 
skies, for the sun has advanced to the point where last we saw 
the planets. Venus has passed to the west of the sun, and is 
now the Morning Star. Jupiter sets only an hour after the 
sun and only Maks is left, and he is not at all conspicuous, 
though well to the left of Regulus, which is setting in the 
west. Spica is in the south-west, three hours west of our south 
mark. Exactly in the south is Antares, the star of the Scorpion. 
It is the most curiously scintillating statin the heavens. Let us 
now take two more steps in marking the path of the sun among 
the stars. If we look a little above the line joining Spica and 
the Antares, about halfway between them, we shall see Alpha 
Libra;, one of the only two conspicuous stars in Libra, The 
Scales, one of the constellations of the Zodiac. Now remem- 
ber that the sun is a little above Spica on the 15th of October, 
almost covers Alpha Libra; on the 5th of November, and on the 
22d of November passes between the two bright stars we see to 
the west and somewhat higher than Antares. No visible star 
marks the lowest point reached by the sun on the 21st of 
December; he does not go near so far south as Antares. 


" Look here ! " said the old Ram, as the Eagle helped himself to a Lamb, " it seems to me you make 
pretty free with my family." 

"True ! " replied the Eagle proudly, " I 'm the Bird of Freedom, you know. 1 ' 

" Bah ! " cried the Lamb, " I 've no patience with such airs," and she managed to pull the wool over his 
eyes so effectually, that he could not see his way, and kicked so vigorously with her little hoofs, that he was 
obliged to drop her. 

"Well ! " said the Eagle, as he smoothed his ruffled feathers, while the Lamb trotted placidly back to the 
fold, " Ram, Lamb, Sheep, or Mutton ! — I sha'n't have any Fourth-of-July dinner." 

*Thc names of planets are printed in capitals, — those of constellations in italics. 

Foi^ Boys and (Sii^ls. 



" Here am I ! " cries July, waving her blue flags and fleur-de-lis. " I know I was awfully noisy last year, 
dear Mother, but I am going to try to be more lady-like ; I am sorry I am such a spread-eagle sort of a 
month, and really wish I was more like May and June." 

" Well, my dear," replied Mother Nature, "I wont scold, if you will try to coax Corn along a little bit; 
I 've had a time with the whole vegetable family this year. All the garden has been saucy, and even Old Pump- 
kin said that he had about made up his mind not to grow any more, not being appreciated as he used to be. " 

" Now, don't worry, Mother," cried July, " I will go, this minute, and give them such a scorching as will 
teach them good manners." 


And they all of them went to the caravan; 

There was little boy Dan, and sister Ann, and 
baby Fan, 

Away they all ran 
To get their seats of the ticket man ; 

And such a cram, and such a jam, 
Was never seen at a caravan 
Since the days that Noah's ark set sail, 
With the animals packed in, head and tail; 
The lamb and the tiger side by side; 
The crocodile with his tough old hide; 
The ramping, roaring, great gorilla 
With the little, dusty, gray moth-miller; 
But I hope that Noah, that good old man, 
Had no such time with his caravan, 
As befell the man who had this show, 
Which at first delighted the children so. 

As soon as they entered the great big tent, 
They were all quite silent with wonderment, 
At seeing so many singular things, 
With tails, and claws, and horns, and wings. 

But all of a sudden the tiger growled, 

The lion roared, and the jackall howled, 

The monkeys chattered, and scolded, and scowled. 

While up and down the panther prowted, 

In his iron cage, so fierce and grim, 

With his glaring eyes, with blood-red rim ; — 

And the whole of the caravan joined in the 

Until, at last, all the girls and boys, 
Had to run to get out of the way. 
And this was the end of their holiday. 
For the animals, tired of being a show, 
Had all resolved to the woods to go ; 

They crashed, and dashed, 

And clashed, and lashed, 
And all together their cages smashed ; 

They roared, and gored, 

And soared, and poured 
Out of the tent in a mighty horde ; 
And there never was heard such a terrible 

Since the day Noah drove the animals in. 





Since we had our little talk last month, a num- 
ber of letters about the ages of animals have been 
sent to me. Some of them are so interesting that 
I think I shall have to show them to you the next 
time we meet. 

To-day, however, you shall have a story, to 
begin with, in honor of the Fourth of July. It is 


There was once a yellow Chinese fire-cracker that 
lived in a bunch of red ones. They were all tied together 
by their pigtails, so that not one could get away. 

The yellow cracker was lonely and unhappy, or lie 
thought that he was, for he was different from the rest, 
and his brothers used to laugh at him and whisper sotlly : 
" Yellow, yellow, 
What a 'fellow! " 

He would lie awake at night, and wonder how he could 
get away. " I should like to go off and never come 
back," he would say to himself; " yes, I should like to 
go off very much, indeed." 

One day lie went off, and 1 will tell you how. He 
and his brothers had their home in a shop window. A 
red ball lived on one side of them, and a box of slate- 
pencils on the other, both very pleasant neighbors. 
They all liked to watch the children who pressed their 
noses flat against the glass of the window and " chose " 
what they would like to have. It was a lovely home, 
but no one ever chose the yellow fire-cracker, and so he 
grew quite unhappy. One day one of the slate-pencils 
was taken away, never to come back, and " little yel- 
low" kept saying to the other pencils, the ball, and all 
of his brothers : 

" If they would only take me, then I should be happy, 
for I am sure there must be other yellow people in 
the world. It is very hard living where every one else 
is red or gray. Oh, dear ! " 

" I want some fire-crackers, please," said a little boy 
to the shop-man. " How d' you sell 'em a pack ? " 

" Six cents," answered the man. 

" Whew ! " said the boy. " How many do you give 
for a cent ? " 

" Five," said the man. 

" Will you give me five and throw in the yellow one ? " 

When " little yellow " heard this he was delighted. 
The man took .up the bunch of crackers, and, untying 
their pigtails, lie put the yellow one and five of its red 
brothers into an old piece of newspaper, and, handed 
them to the boy. 

Then the fire-crackers started off on a journey in the 
dark ; but soon they were taken out of the paper and 
laid in a row across the little boy's hand. Other children 
stood around and looked at them. The crackers began 
to feel very proud. 

" Let 's send the yellow one off first. He 's a good one, 
and wont he make a noise ! " said one child. 

" Of course I 'm good," said the cracker, to himself. 
" I will not make a noise at all, for I 've always been a 
quiet fellow." lust then a yellowdog ran down the street, 
and the boys started after him. 

" Let 's tie the two yellows together, and send 'm off," 
said another boy. 

" How nice ! " said the cracker. " The dog is yellow, 
and they are going to tie us together. Now 1 shall have 
a real brother, and we '11 have fun going off together. " 

But before the boys could catch the dog, one of them 
held a lighted match to "little yellow's " pigtail. 

" Now I am off, indeed," said " little yellow " ; " but 
what is going on inside of me ? I shall burst ! I shall 
burst ! " 

And he did. 


Talking of fire-crackers naturally makes one 
think of our country, and that again reminds me of 
something that our wonderful Little School-ma'am 
lately told right here in my meadow. She explain- 
ed why the Government of the United States is so 
often called " L T ncle Sam." It appears that some 
well-informed person in Washington, in looking 
over old books and papers in the Capitol library 
the other day, -came across the whole story and 
wrote it down in a letter. The Little School-ma'am 
saw his account and recited it to the children of 
the red school-house, at the close of the noon play- 

You must know that, according to our Wash- 
ington friend, this term "Uncle Sam" originated 
at Trov, in New York State, during the war of 

The Government inspector there was called Uncle 
Sam Wilson, and, when the war opened, Elbert 
Anderson, the contractor at New York, bought a 
large amount of beef, pork, and pickles for the 
army. These goods were inspected by Mr. Wilson, 
and were duly labeled E. A., U. S., meaning 
Elbert Anderson, for the United States. The 
term L : . S. for United States was then somewhat 
new, and the workmen concluded it referred to Un- 
cle Sam W r ilson. After they discovered their mis- 
take they kept up the name for fun. These same 
men soon went to the war. There they repeated 
the joke. It got into print and went the rounds. 
From that time on the term " Uncle Sam " grew 
to be the nickname of the United States, and now 
it is everywhere understood that Uncle Sam and 
our national Government are one and the same 

i88 4 .] 




It appears that the children — who are very fond 
of imitating the ways of grown folk — have lately 
taken to interviewing certain flowers and animals, 
thus obtaining from them a good amount of strictly 
personal information. 

The following account of a little girl interview- 
ing a daisy — as taken down by our poetical re- 
porter — is not without interest: 

" Oh, where did you come from, you dear dainty flower, 

With your heart like the sun, and your face like the snow?" 

" Oh, I came front the land of the sunshine and shower, 
Where the gulden buttercups grow." 

' But what did you do when the leaves were all dying. 
And the meadows were covered with billows of snow 
When to lands of soft breezes the robins were living, 
Pray, where did the daisies all go ? " 

' When the bleak winds were blowing o'er mountains and 
I was out in the field sleeping under the snow. 
And 1 dreamed of still woods in soft sunlight and shadows, 
And of banks where the violets grow." 

1 But how did you know when the winter was over? 

And how did you know when the spring-time was here 
Did you dream that the fields were all purple with clover 
And wake to find summer was near?" 

' I heard the birds sing, and I heard the brook flowing, 

And the sunshine and rain called in tones soft and clear 

' The green grass is growing, the flowers are blowing, 
Wake, daisy, for summer is here ! ' " 


"Some boys and girls," remarked the 
Deacon, last Saturday, to his young friends, 
"are very like a certain flower that I read 
about lately : they come out best in a 
breeze. The quiet peacefulness that makes - 
the daisy sort of youngster all the more 
sweet and charming, makes these breeze- 
children seem stupid and dull. They need 
a brisk wind, or even a gale, to show what 
they really are." 

Well, the good man proceeded to illus- 
trate his point, and as the listening young- 
sters laughed and nodded "yes," I suppose 
he made his meaning quite clear. But what in- 
terested your Jack the most was the flower or 
plant itself. This the Deacon described as a truly 
wonderful thing — a South American shrub that 
stands about two or three feet in height and usually 
looks something like a dark knobby cane with a 
crook on top. But when the wind blows, these 
knobs on the stalk open out into beautiful flowers 
that shut again as soon as the air is still. 


Information is wanted of the Scaphirhyncho- 
penae. Have you heard from them lately ? They 
are quite' a dashing family, I'm told — high 
livers, good swimmers, fond of racing and so 
on — and strong teetotalers in the bargain. 
When last heard from, they were taking a swim 
near London. 


Dear Tack-in- the-Pulpit : The other day I saw, in a hand- 
some sitting-room, something that attracted my attention. When I 
remarked on "the pretty new crystal vase," my friend laughed, and 
told me how easily the vase had been made — or had made itself. 
Her account so interested me that I resolved to ask you to repeat it 
to all your young folk. Perhaps, too, St. Nicholas will show a 
portrait of the pretty piece of home-made crystal work. 

The directions are simple enough. One has only to take a slender 
tumbler, partly fill it with water and put in a good handful of salt. 
That is all, except from time to lime to add more water and salt, 

spread over all. 
tch the crystals 

and after a while to put 
a little plate underneath, 
bottom of which can be keptt 
if need be, of the salt inc 
which otherwise will in tinn 
It is very interesting to \ 
creeping up the inside and down the outside, 
and thickening, till the whole is white, covered with 
a mass of little stalactites, beautifully irregular on the surface, 
but symmetrical in general shape. This takes several months. 
If a blue tumbler is desired, bluing may be added to the salt and 
water (a teaspoonful of bluing to a tumbler of water). 

Yours truly, Margaret Meredith. 


By the way, it occur; to me to ask why the 
glass drinking-vessel in common use, standing so 
firmly on its foundation, should have so very un- 
steady a name as " the tumbler." Who knows ? 





Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently 

be examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with 

contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

A masculine young contributor sends 

drawing as a Fourth-of-July contribution : 

this mischievc 

East Windsor Hill, Conn., Feb., 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We were very much interested in the letter 
written by Lucy C. A., White Rock, Elko Co., Nevada, and we 
want to know more about her. My Papa lived in that localitv and 
has told us so much about the country that we felt very interested. 
His name was Martin R. Burnham, a stock-man. Does she know of 
him? I wonder if this will ever reach her eyes? If so, will she re- 
ply ? I would like so much to tell her of my beautiful home in the 
Connecticut Valley, and to hear from a little girl who lives in a 
country my Papa knows so well. So, dear St. Nicholas, will you 
please print this for one of your readers ? Mary B. 

New York, March, 18S4. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you about my little house 
which I have in the country. It is called "Gable Lodge," and it 
is painted red and has a piazza all around it. It is quite large and 
it is all furnished, and has a carpet on the floor and some chairs in 
it, and shelves to keep my china on, and a wardrobe to keep my 
doll's clothes in. I have a very big doll and she lives in the house 
I am telling about. Her name is "Violette." Good-bye, this is all 
now; perhaps I will write another letter to you. 

Marguerite L.Winslow. 

Portsmouth, N. H., March, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have been taking you for four years. 
My mother gave you to me for a Christmas present in 1879. and I 
have taken you ever since. I think you are the best magazine that 
I have ever read. I carry the paper called The Chronicle here and 
have to get up at four o'clock in the morning. I wonder if many of 
the readers of the St. Nicholas would like that. I think it is fun. 
I like Louisa M. Alcott's Spinning-wheel Stories very much. 

Your constant reader, Perrv M. Riley. 

London, England, March, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am one of your readers, and I am a Cal- 
lfornian living in England. I am nine years old, and I thought 
1 might interest some of your readers of the Letter-box by telling 
a story about the Chinese which my mother told me. They copy 
everything exactly. A gentleman once sent a plate to China to 
have a certain number made like it, and as he did not like to 
send one of his best plates, he sent one with a crack in it, and so, 
when he got them all, each one had a crack in it just like the one 
he had sent. I like your stories very much. 

Your little friend, Charlie Delany. 

Pittsfield, Mass., March, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Our school takes your precious magazine 
and likesit better than any other that it has ever subscribed for. 

Seeing the article given in the January number about "Jericho 
Roses," and having one in our school cabinet, we tried the experi- 
ment and met with great success, although it was not tried on Christ- 
mas Eve or the night before Easter. Your faithful readers, 

Margaret S. and Mary B. 

Alexandra Hotel, London, England, April, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I see you have scarcely any letters from 
your little friends abroad. So I thought I would write you one. I 
am a little American girl, eleven years old, and am traveling all 
around Europe with Mamma, Papa, and my pug, "Punch." We 
had an earthquake the other day, and a black fog to-day, — so black, 
that the hansoms had their lamps lighted I found a little daisy in 
Hyde Park, and it looks like ours only it has a pink border. Queen 
Victoria's grand-daughter is to be married on Wednesday to the 
Duke of Hesse. I have written an awful long letter; but, dear St. 
Nicholas, if you only knew half the trouble I have had with it, be- 
tween the spelling and naughty "Punch," who keeps knocking 
my arm, you would surely publish XL Punch has just chewed up 
my dear St. Nicholas. Your English friends, 

"Punch" and Mildred Shirley. 

Ann Arbor, Mich,, April, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have never seen any letters from here 
in " the Best of Magazines," and think we ought to be represented, 
so I take upon myself the duty of writing to you. It is a pleasure 
to tell you how much I appreciate this dear book and how eagerly I 
watch for it. 1 have been a reader for some time and think each 
number is better than the last. I would like to see my letter in 
print, and for fear it may be too long, will close with kind w ishes to 
all the readers and " Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit." 

Your true friend, "Blue Bell." 

49 Huntingdon St., Barnsbury, London, Eng., April, 1884. 

Dear St. Nicholas : It is a red-letter day with us when papa 
brings each number of St. Nicholas home, as all of us enjoy read- 
ing it very much. We have been in England now nearly two 
years, and we wish we were back in Kentucky again. We have seen 
a great deal since we came, but we enjoy reading St. Nicholas more 
than all. We are now anxiously looking forward for the May 
number, which we shall all enjoy reading. 

We are, your affectionate readers, 

Maggie, Nellie, and Alice Smith. 

I (Maggie) am 13, NelHe is 12, and Alice will be 8 on Easter 

72 Belsize Park Gardens, London, N. W., April, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have an anecdote that I think might 
please some of the little readers of St. Nicholas. I shall call it 

" A Curious Dinner-Party." 

One day our dog's dinner was put out for him as usual in the 
back-yard. In about five minutes, the servant, going through the 
back-yard, saw, to her amazement, that the dog was giving a dinner- 
party, for at the dish were our cat, our bantam cock and hen, and a 
rat. The rat and cat were close together. The rat was a very bold 
fellow, and a very " cheeky " one, too, for he used to fight with quite a 
big kitten, and after a while they became great friends. 

Yours trulv, Margaret G. Anderson. 

South Boston, April, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Will you please do me a great favor by 
asking your girl-readers if any of them have ever succeeded in culti- 

i88 4 .] 



vating a vegetable garden, or have raised poultry? I am very 
much interested in the question as to how girls may earn money at 
home. In the city there are many ways of so doing, but in the 
country very few ways seem to offer themselves. One of the most 
healthful and interesting for country girls is farming on a small scale. 
Of course, a girl must not expect to become rich, but consider- 
able pocket-money can be earned in this way. 

A well-attended strawberry-bed yields well, and repays one bounti- 
fully ; the raising of grapes, currants, raspberries, blackberries, and 
other small fruits is profitable. Then there are the vegetables; I 
suppose a girl would think raising them to be outside her "sphere," 
but 1 have raised, in a half-acre garden, bushels of onions, tomatoes, 
cabbages, turnips, potatoes, cucumbers, for pickling, and, in fact, all 
of the common vegetables ; they repaid me well, too, and I planted, 
weeded, hoed, and harvested them all myself. You would hardly 
believe how good a profit a little patch of land will yield, if properly 

Besides gardening, taking care of poultry or lambs well repays a 
girl for her trouble ; but, of the two, poultry-keeping is the easier and 
the more profitable in the end. A flock of pretty, shining hens was 
dearer to me than all the puppies and kittens that ever saw daylight. 
Eggs will always sell, and at Thanksgiving and Christmas dressed 
poultry is much in demand. 

I have had a great deal of experience in farming, in all of its 
various forms, from the raising of garden seeds to the gathering of 
apples and rearing of stock ; and I can advise any girl to take up 
farming, for it is a pure, healthful, and pleasant occupation. I do 
not live in the country now, but I take as much interest in what is 
passing there as if I did. 

I hope soon to hear from some of your rural friends who have had 
experience in farming. Yours expectantly, 

Mabel Percy H . 

Terrebonne, La., Feb., 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have been looking over the letters and 
I see none from Louisiana, so I thought I would write to you. My Aunt 
Mollie sent the St. Nicholas to us as a Christmas present, and I 
think it is such a splendid one. I think the Spinning-wheel stories 
are so nice. All of Miss Louisa M. Alcott's stories are so interesting. 
We live on a sugar plantation, and I like sugar rolling. I have 
three sisters and one brother, and our baby sister is so sweet, she is 
just beginning to talk ; I cannot write very long letters because I am 
not old enough. I am only ten. I want to see my letter in print 
very much. 

Your little unknown friend, L. G. B . 

We have received correct answers from the following young friends 
in reply to the little Baltimore boy's letter in the May Letter-box: 
May De Forest Ireland, Aubrey T. Maguire, J. W. C, C. M. L., 
EllaS. Gould, Walter A. Mathews, A. C, Mamie Mead, K. L., 
A. H. C, Edgar G. Banta, Mary McGowan, Helen D. H., E. C, 
Charles Baldwin, William E. Ireland, Phil. Jennings, J. D. W., Ma- 
bel Holcombe, C. W. N., Kitty W. B., F. A. Frere. We have 
also received pleasant letters from Phil. H. Sawyer, Bessie W., 
Estelle M., Carrie B. T., E. E. R., Auntie Grace, May C, G. H. 
P. Tracie, Martie Rindland, J. J. Coachman, Lizzie Lee Filles, 
James H. C. Richmond, Ina. M., Florence E. S., Mattie B. Wells, 
" Hermes," Mina Nicholas, Mabel L. F., J. M. M., Gracie Knight, 
Susie B. C, "Subscriber," Annie M., Addie L. Fries, Mabel 
Douglas, Edwina Alberta, " Questioner." 


July finds the Association actively engaged in midsummer work. 
The responses to circulars recently issued show that, as was to be 
expected, many Chapters have disbanded, owing to the graduation 
of classes, etc., but there is also shown a large increase in the mem- 
bership of most of our branches. The amendments have been car- 
ried by something more than the requisite three-fourths vote, and 
the Amended Constitution is given in full in The New Hand- 
BooKj which is now ready, price, 50 cents. 

The September Convention. 

The subject of a General Convention of the Agassiz Association, 
as proposed in May, has excited much interest. A change of plan 
is suggested that seems to us excellent. It is that our meeting be 
held in Philadelphia instead of Nashua. The Philadelphia Chap- 
ters have expressed their willingness to accept the responsibility of 
the necessary preparations, and the Nashua Chapter has gracefully 
waived its prior claim. 

It is proposed to hold the meeting on the 2d and 3d of September. 
It is so nearly impossible to get at a full expression of opinion from 
all our Chapters, that, to expedite matters, we venture to call the 
meeting for Philadelphia on the two days mentioned, subject to the 
approval of the various Chapters. The advantages of the city are 
many: It is the home of several strong Chapters ; it is central ; it 
has ample room for the whole of the Agassiz Association, and on 
the 4th and 5th there is to assemble there the American Association 
for the Advancement of Science, — whose meetings, as well as the 
Electrical Exhibition of same date, will prove of great interest and 
value to all. This question must now be promptly and definitely 
decided, and we earnestly request the opinions of all Chapters, and 
the names of those that can attend such a meeting. If the responses 
are favorable, details will be given later. 

Additional Aid. 

The thanks of the A. A. are due to the writers of the following 
generous offers: 

Washington, New Jersey. 

On the subject of human physiology, I may be able to assist by 
answering questions. If so, I am at your service. 

Wm. M. Baird, M. D. 

Milwaukee, Wis., March 30, '84. 
Dear Sir: I am working on the jumping-spiders — attides — of 
the world, describing new species and getting ready to publish a 
monograph of the family. I should be very happy to determine 
spiders in this group from any locality for members of the A. A. I 
will be very glad to give to the club that will send the best collec- 
tion of jumping-spiders (the collection not to be less than fifteen 
species) Hentz's United States Spiders, with Emerton's Notes, 21 
plates and upward of four hundred figures. The spiders should be 
in alcohol and ought to be sent to me before the last of October. Any 
club that desires to compete had better communicate with me, and I 
can then send them instructions that will aid them. 

Yours truly, Geo. Peckham. 

The Red Cross Class. 

The very pleasant class in practical anatomy that Dr. Warren 
began a month or two ago has been interrupted, from a most sad 
necessity. Dr. Warren was suddenly called to go to Florida to 
attend his father in a serious illness. As soon as he shall be able to 
return, he will again communicate with his correspondents. 


During the months of July and August, the President of the A. 
A. will be away from Lenox, and for those months the regular 
' ' Chapter Reports ' ' may be omitted. All other correspondence will 
be attended to as usual, though with a delay of a day or two, caused 
by forwarding the mails. 




List of New Chapters. 
Name. No. of Members 

Manlius, N. Y. (B) . 

Ab'mgton, Conn. (A). 
Hudson, N. Y. (A) . . 

Petoskey, Mich. (A) 1 

Brighton, Ont. (A) . . . 
Harrisonburg, Va. (A) 
Chicopee, Mass. (A) . . . 
New York, N. Y. (Q) . 

Fremont, O. (A) 

Davenport, Iowa (B) . 

C. H. Cuyler, St. John's 

Miss Jessie E. L. Dennis. 
Harry W. George. 
W. B. Lawton. 
12. .Miss Lizzie Squier. 
8.. Mrs. F. A. Daingerfield. 
24. .Miss E. L. Mitchell, Box 210- 

6. .W.T. Demarest,io6 YarickSt. 
10. Theo. H. Jarigk. 

7. .Miss Sarah G. Foote. 




Terre Haute, Ind. (B). 

Macon, Mo. (A) 

Annapolis, Md. (A) 
Rockville, Ind. (A).... 
Putnam, Conn. (A) 
St. Louis, Mo. (D).... 



639 Montclair, N. J. (A)... 

640 Millville, N. J. (A) 

641 Normal Park, III. {A). . 

642 Florence, Mass. (A) . . . . 

643 Higganum, Conn. (A). 

644 Philadelphia, Pa. (U). . 

645 Bath, N. Y, (B) 

646 Janesville, Wis. (A).... 

647 Union City, Mich. (A). 

648 Peoria, 111. (D) 

649 Chicago, 111. (V) 

650 Sandusky, O. (A) 

. . 8..0. C. Newhinney. 

.. 6..C. W. Kimball. 

.. 9. . A. A. Hopkins, St. John's Coll. 

.. 8..E. C. Thurston. 

. . 7 . . Harry W. Chapman. 

. 4.. Frank M. Davis, 3857 Wash- 
ington Ave. 
. . 6. .Miss Lucy Parsons. 
. . 4. .Carder Hayard. 
. . 14. .Miss CharlottePutnam,Bx.i73. 
. . 9.. A. T. Bliss. 
.. 5.. Miss Estella E. Clark. 
.. 4.. MX. Knabe, Jr., 470 N. 7th St. 
. . 5. Xharles L. Kingsley. 
. . 7. .Miss A. E. Prichard. 
. . 9. .Carl Spencer. 
.. 6..H. J. Woodward. 

. 4. J. H. Manny, 242 Bissel St. 
.. 5. .John Youngs, Jr., 415 Frank- 
lin St. 

338 Wareham, Mass. (B) 6, .Arthur Hammond. 


Lepidoptera and correspondence. — Geo. C. Hollister, Old Nat. 
Bank, Grand Rapids, Mich. 

White Chinese rats. — J. P. Cotton, Newport, R. I. 

Birds' eggs. — H. J. Woodward, Peoria, 111. 

British eggs and lepidoptera. — L. Hayter, Gleuggle, Wood Lane, 
Highgate, London, England. 

Minerals for eggs. — -W. G. Talmadge, Plymouth, Conn. 

Eggs'and coral (write first). — W. M. Clute, Iowa City, Iowa. 

Buffalo's tooth, for iron ore. — Jessie Sharpnack, Grafton, D. T. 

Eggs. — Albert Garrett, Lawrence. Kansas. 

Bird-skins, eggs, and insects. — Carleton Gilbert, 116 Wildwood 
Avenue, Jackson, Mich, 

Correspondence with distant Chapters. — Frank H. Foster, Keene, 
N. H. Box 307. 

Cannel coal, halite, hematite, limonite, selenite, for stilbite azur- 
ite, amazon stone serpentine. — Robert E.Terry, Sec, Hudson, N.Y. 

Correspondence. — J. H. Jones, Sec. Chap. 463, Dayton, O. 

Mounted microscopic objects, for insects. — Charles C. Osborn, 27 
West Thirty-second Street, New York. 

Illinois minerals. — Sec. Chap. 550, 208 N. Academy Street, Gales- 
burgh, 111. 

Botanical specimens of California, for works (new or second-hand, 
if in good order) on botany, geology, and mineralogy. — Mrs. E. H. 
King, Napa, Cal. 

Mounted diatoms, Isthmia nervosa, from Santa Cruz, for diatom- 
aceous earth from Richmond, Va., or elsewhere. — L. M. King, Santa 
Rosa, Cal. 

Fossils of Lower Silurian, for coleoptera and lepidoptera. — G. 
M., 35^ Sherman Avenue. Cincinnati, O. 

Shells, minerals, and fossils. — Maude M. Lord, 75 Lamberton St., 
New Haven, Conn. 

Green malachite, and others, for opahzed wood, etc. — Herbert D. 
Miles, 2417 Michigan Boulevard, Chicago. 

Indicolite and many others, for minerals or insects. — E. R. Lar- 
ncd, 2546 S. Dearborn Street, Chicago, 111. 


98. Alligator (a). — The alligator is found only in fresh water, 
while the crocodile lives in both fresh and salt water, usually in the 
mouth of a large river where the tide comes in. 

(b. ) The lower canine teeth of the alligator fit into the notches in 
the edge of the upper jaw, while in the crocodile the lower teeth fit 
into pits in the upper jaw. This causes a difference in the outline 
of the head, the muzzle of the crocodile being narrowed behind 
the nostrils, while that of the alligator forms an unbroken line to the 
mouth. — Josie Ford. 

99. Moss on trees. — A very long kind of moss grows on tamarack 
trees here (Pine City, Minn.) It grows from the tree about two 
feet, then widens out at the end into a sort of plate from which more 
runners spring, which again widen into a plate, and so on. I have 
found pieces eight feet long. — E. L. Stephan. 

[The name of this moss, please?] 

100. Pebbles, in answer to C. F. G. — Owing to alternate freezing 
and thawing, large blocks of rock are broken from the mountain 
side. These are broken into smaller fragments by rolling and at- 
trition, and by the action of the water and friction against each 
other are ground down into rounded forms called pebbles. For a 
full and clear account, see Pebbles, published at 30c. by Ginn & 
Heath, Boston. 

101. Blue-jay . — March 8th. It was snowing hard. I espied a blue- 
jay in an appic-tree, picking away like mad at a frozen apple. The 
spiteful, hammer-like force with which he pecked at it, attested 
the power of his bill as well as his hunger. He stayed a full half- 

hour, the chilling blast ruffling his feathers, and the snow at times 
completely veiling him. He appeared very tired. He probably 
got scarcely a spoonful of frozen apple. — L. M. Howe, Hallowell, 

Chapter Reports. 

604. Fredonia, N. V. — Our Chapter is working with steady 
enthusiasm. We meet every Wednesday for two hours' united 
study. Our head-quarters, " Agassiz Hall," already has a scientific 
look. — Mrs. J. N. Curtis, Sec. 

595. 0?ieonta, N. Y. — In astronomy we think we have been 
quite successful, as when we began we did not know the name of a 
single star, and have had no one to help us except St. Nicholas. 
Now we can trace the Ecliptic by means of its principal stars, and 
have learned the names of all the constellations of the Zodiac. — 
Jessie E. Jenks. 

544. Oxford, Miss. — We have raised tadpoles from the spawn, 
have caught and placed in a tank three minnows, one perch, and 
one catfish, which we observe daily; we have several cocoons 
awaiting transformation, and a large white grub in a clay ball. 
Great eagerness to learn pervades this little Chapter. — C. Wood- 
ward Hutson. 

246. Bethlehem, Pa. — Our collection of woods contains a ma- 
jority of all that grow here. Our department of bird-skins is grow- 
ing rapidly. Our minerals are fine, not very large, but all good 
specimens. We have collected 147 specimens of insects during the 
year. At an entertainment we realized a net profit of $14.00. — 
Geo. G. Grider. 

261. E. Boston. — Please change the name of our Secretary to 
Miss Ruth A. Odiorne, 118 Lexington St. 

135. Jackson, Mich. — We now have sixteen members, and all 
are very much interested. We have been obliged to change our 
Secretary to Mr. James Bennett, 306 First St. 

537. Mansjichi, O. — The class from the High School visited our 
museum recently, and expressed a strong desire to enter the lists 
and become practical workers, which convinced us that even we 
could be of some benefit. We will offer to the Chapter sending us 
the largest and best cojlection of coleoptera or lepidoptera by 
November 1st, a beautiful specimen of native silver from Chihua- 
hua. We respectfully solicit correspondence, with a view to ex- 
change, from all working Chapters. — E. Wilkinson, Sec. 

532. Leunckley, Pa. — At every meeting we have at least three 
essays, and the best one is placed in the scrap-book. — M. A. 
Christy, Sec. 

413. Denver, Col. — At our last meeting we had an essay on 
Audubon's Warbler, skins o( both sexes being shown to illustrate 
the paper, also on Herring Gull, and Great Northern Shrike (speci- 
mens shown), the Burrowing Owl, and Bullock's Oriole. One of 
our number prepared over one hundred bird-skins while in the 
Rocky Mountains this summer, some of which are very rare here, 
among them the Black Swift. — W. H. Henderson, Cor. Sec. 

13S. Warren, Me. — We had an interesting discussion on the 
question, "Resolved, that a knowledge of Natural History is of 
more value to the farmer than a knowledge of Mathematics." Can 
any one tell us whnt time is represented by the rings of a beet? 

— A. M. Hilt. 

229. Chicago, HI. — Here is a specimen of our meetings : Met at 
4 p. M., Pres. Davis in the chair. Only two members absent. 
Music. Appointment of Critic. Minutes of previous meeting. 
Secretary's report. Treasurer's report. Essay, Camphor. Mu- 
sic. Select reading. Wild Cat. Experiment with camphor. 
Essay, Insect Collecting. — Criticism of previous meeting. Music. 
Select reading, Blue Jay. Essay, Chamois. Experiment, the 
extraction of pure copper from the ore. Experiment, production 
of hydrogen from zinc by hydrochloric acid Select reading, 
Fish. Essay, the Llama. Mnsic. 

The meeting was very pleasant. The essay on insect collecting 
was illustrated by drawings, 4x4 in. — Ezra Earned, Sec. 

[It would be a pleasure to attend a meeting like that.] 

514. Ioiva City. — Our essays are written on letter-paper with 
wide margins for binding. We shall bind them every year and 
keep them. — W. M. Clute, Sec. 

4S5. Brooklyn Village, O. — We now number over forty mem- 
bers. We have in our room an excellent picture of Agassiz. At 
each meeting, the time is divided into quarter hours for the different 
branches of Nat. Hist., after which there is general discussion. 

— Lewis B. Foote. 

All communications concerning the Agassiz Association must be 
addressed to the President, 

Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, 
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 





Each of rhe words described contains the same number of letters, 
and the beheaded letters, when read in the order here given, will 
spell the name of a distinguished sculptor. 

Cross-words: i. Behead healing substances and leave charity. 
2. Behead solitary and leave desolate. 3. Behead a river of Europe 
and leave a stone used for sharpening instruments. 4. Behead the 
plural of that and leave covering for the feet. 5. Behead listens 
and leave refuges, 6. Behead a fruit and leave to subsist. 7. Be- 
head a narrow slip of paper affixed to anything to denote its contents 
or character and leave a man's name. 8. Behead a seaport town of 
England and leave above. 9. Behead fanciful and leave to distribute. 



(12) a cape of Ireland, and the forenoon passed gayly. About mid- 
day we discovered, a little to the (13) cape of Norway of the road, a 
pleasant grove, where we decided to stop and have luncheon. (14) A 
cape of New Jersey blew a tiny (15) cape of South America, which 
she had hung upon her saddle, and we sat down to a luncheon of 
cold (16) country of Europe , {17) a city of Austria bread, some (18) 
islands in the Pacific ocean, and a dozen (19) rivers of Cape Colony. 
We had a hard pull to get the (20) city of Ireland from the bot- 
tle of (21) county of England sauce, but it was at length removed. 
The boys gathered sticks, our little kettle boiled, and soon the fra- 
grant (22) river of Germany of (23) one of the Sunda isla?ids coffee 
tilled the air. Our luncheon eaten, we were soon on our way again ; 
but the sun was almost obscured by clouds, the (24) name given to 
the upper part of the Big Horn River had risen, and we feared that 
the day begun so pleasantly would end by being (25) a river forming 
part of the northern boundary of the United States. Our little party 
became very doleful, and (26) a lake in New York, like the mis- 
chievous (27) an island south of England he is, began to tell an 
absurd story called (28) a sea between Asia and Africa (20) a river 
of Georgia, the (30) county of central New York (31) ocean south 
of Asia scout. 

As he was regaling us with this thrilling narration, an old woman 
appeared in the road before us with (32) an island belonging to New 
York gray hair hanging about her shoulders, and a bright (33) sea 
cast of China (34) islands west of Africa perched upon her 
finger. We were all startled at this strange apparition, especially 
after listening to blood-curdling stories, but we tried to appear (35) 
a large lake in North America to (36) a cape of North Carolina, 
and rode bravely by. Just then the sun broke through the clouds, 
and after a brisk canter of half an hour, we drew rein at the house 
of Aunt (37) a city of Italy, and were not sorry to say (38) a cape 
of Greenland X.Q riding expeditions for that day. annie mcv. 


Frame: From 1 to 2, crystallized cauk, in which the crystals are 
small ; from 3 to 4, food ; from 5 to 6, an instrument for examining 
flowers ; from 7 to 8, shrubs and bushes upon which animals browse. 

Included Word-square : 1. The stone of which the letters of 
the frame from 1 to 1 name a crystal. 2. A fairy. 3. A song. 4. 
A gold coin formerly current in Great Britain. j. p. b. 


One word is concealed in each sentence. 

1. Years ago, the magi learned many strange arts from Eastern 
sages. 2. Let us play tag at Estelle's house, this afternoon. -\. 
From the brief item she read me, I was unable to form any 
opinion. 4. Tell Emma on no account to be late. 5. Yes, say we 
will surely be there on time. zvx. 

Each of the fourteen small pictures may be described by a 
word of four letters. Behead each of these words and put another 
letter in place of the one removed. The new words thus formed all 
appertain to the central figure. . Example : Boot, foot. 


One pleasant morning in June I started with some young friends 
to ride on horseback to the house of my Aunt (i) a city of Italy, 
where we were to spend a few days. The party consisted of my 
cousin (2) a cape of New Jersey, my sister (3) a city of Fra?ice, my 
brother (4) a city of New South Wales, and my cousins (5) 
a cape of Virginia, and (6) a lake in New York. My sister 
{7) a city of France rode a beautiful (8) sea between Europe 
and Asia (9) a group of islands north of Scotland pony, which 
we had named (10) an island in the Gnlfof 'St. Lawrence. 

A pleasant breeze was blowing, the (tij one of the Hebrides was 


My first is a kind of detective, 
'T is oft used at a meeting elective; 
And, whether for best or for worst, 
f T is the custom to follow my first. 

When Jack to the fair took young Bett, 

He danced with her every set; 

I think it may safely be reckoned 

He thought the whole thing was my second. 

As through the green fields they returned, 

Brave Jack, whom Bett never had spumed, 

He gathered my whole, and, as love's token, gave 

To the girl who had made him her captive and slave. 





Each of the words described contains the same number of letters. 
When rightly guessed and placed one below another, in the order 
here given, the third row of letters (reading downward) will .spell 
what our forefathers fought for; and the fifth row names what is 
dear to all young people on a certain day. 

Cross-words: i. Ungracefully. 2. Terse. 3. Commanded. 
4. To simulate. 5. Portrays. 6. Directed. 7. A small dagger 
8, Subtracts. 9. To diversify. 10. Longs for. 11. Made safe. 
12. Treachery. CYRIL deane. 



I. From 9 to n, a boy's nickname; from 1 to 3, part of a fish; 
from 12 to 14, a child; from 5 to 8, to throw off; from 9 to 14, a 
blessing : from 1 to 8, completed. 

II. From 9 to ir, a vehicle; from 1 to 3, an inclosure ; from 12 
to 14, a snare ; from 5 to 8, a portable lodge ; from 9 to 14, the select 
council of an executive government; from 1 to 8, contrite. 

III. From 9 to n, a poisonous serpent ; from 1 to 3, to disfigure ; 
from 12 to 14, a color; from 5 to 8, a precious metal ; from 9 to 14, 
longed for; from 1 to 8, a flower. dvcie. 


Cross-words (three letters each) : 1. A body of Lawyers. 2. A 
man's name. 3. A segment of a circle. 4. A bond. 

Primals, to strike ; finals, a grain. Primals and finals, when read 
in connection, form a girl's name. The four central letters of the 
acrostic may be successively transposed to mean a bar of iron, the 
couch of a wild beast, and one who perverts the truth. F. a. w. 


I, Across: i. A month. 2. A loud noise. 3. A color. 4. Stained. 
Downward: i. Injury. 2. Aloft. 3. Thelimbof an animal. 4. A 
measure. 5. A song. 6. A personal pronoun. 7. In judge. 

II. Across : 1. What all expect in summer. 2. A snare 
3. Deep mud. 4. A stringed instrument of music. Downward: 

1. In heliotrope. 2. A Latin conjunction. 3. To fortify. 4. Part 
of a coin. 5. To inspect closely. 6. A German personal pronoun. 
7. In heliotrope. 

III. 1. Useful in warm weather. 2. A valley. 
Closely confined. Downward: i. In fortune. 
osition. 3. A short slumber. 4. To slide. 3. 
Two-thirds of a termination. 7. In fortune. 

3. A spear. 4. 
2. A Latin prep- 
To increase. 6. 



Example: Invert an apartment and make to secure. Answer: 
Room, moor. 

i. Invert fate and make disposition. 2. Invert a color and make 
a poet. 3. Invert enmity and make bleak. 4. Invert moisture 
and make to marry. 5. Invert a small body of water and make 
a noose. 6. Invert a Roman magistrate and make to cut off. 7. In- 
vert an Arabian prince and make hoar-frost. 8. Invert dishes and 
make a sudden breaking. Paul reese. 


First decipher the inscription on the base of the column. 
From the letters forming it, spell the names of the six articles below 


Shaksperian Puzzle. " With no less confidence than boys pur- 
suing summer butterflies." — Act 4. Scene VI. Monogram, 
McCullough. Cross-word Enigma. Gondola. 

Dickens Central Acrostic. Central letters, Gregsbury ; Cross- 
words : 1. garGery. 2. staRtop. 3. squEers. 4. meaGles. 5. 
podSnap. 6. herEert. 7. smaUker. S. ledRook. 9. graVper. 

Illustrated Puzzle, i. Cod. 2. Oil. 3. Doll. 4. Lid. 5. 
Mill. 6. Coil. 7 - Viol. 

Concealed Half Square, i. Potomac. 2. Operas. 3. Tenet. 
4. Ores. 5. Mat. 6. As. 7. C. 

Beheadings. Eeheaded letters, Whittier. 

7. E-late. 



Buried Flowers. 

Feverfew. 5. Oxalis. 

Double Acrostic. 

words: 1. CharM. : 

6. EndoW. 7. SealS. 

Hour-glass. Centrals, Slumbei 
2. soLid. 3. nUt. 4. M. 5. ABi 

I-deal. 4. T-ally. 5. 

Cross-words : x 
T-rout. 6. I-rate. 

1. Orchis. 2. Sunflower. 3. Tea-rose. 4. 
6. Sumach. 7. Clematis. 8. Sweet-pea. 
Primals, Charles ; finals, Mathews. Cross- 
HeclA. 3. AUoT. 4- RancH. 5. LithE 

Proverb Puzzle. Bunker Hill. 

Cross-words: 1. conSume. 
f. stEer. 7. leaRned. 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Centi'RV Co., 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City. 

Answers to April Puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the June number, from Lida Bell, Canada, 2 — Bella and 
Cora Wehl, Frankfort, Germany, 5. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 20, from L. S. T. — Paul Reese — Arthur Gride — Rex 
Ford — S R. T. — Maggie T. Turrill — "Johnny Duck," Highland Mills.— Kina — Hartie, Clara, and Mamma — "Daisy, Pansy, and 
Sweet William — Charles H. Kyte — Hugh and Cis — Francis W. Islip — Nicoll and Mary Ludlow — Madeleine Vultee. 

Answers to Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 20, from Maggie L. and Addie S., 1 — Russell K. Miller, 5 — 
Navajo, 6 — Minnie G. Morse, 4 — R. McKean Barry, 1 — Pep and Maria, 10 — Emma and Ada, 1 — Ella S. Gould, 1 — Carrie Howard, 
2 — F. N. Betts, 2 — " Bubber, Nannie, and B.." 7 — Roy Macfarland, r — Jennie McBride, 1 — H. D. A., 3 — Emily Sydeman, 1 — A. 
andB., 2 — James W. Thompson, 5 — Maurice Sharp, 1 — Jessie A. Brahams, 1 — Fred. A. Barnes, 2 — Karl Miner, 3 — Sallie Swan, 2 — 
Edward Bancroft, 3 — Bessie A. Jackson, 3 — Bertie, 2 — "Yelbis," 1 — Raphael A. Weed, 2 — Birdie Alberger, 3 — "Solon, Theseus, 
and Lycurgus," 4 — Edith and Lawrence Butler. 3 — Grace, Maud, and May, 3 — Lulu F., 2 — S. H. Rippey, 1 — Imo and Grace, 10 
— R. H. and R. C. G., 2 — Effie K. Talboys, 5 ■ — Katherine Smith, 2 — Herbert Gaytes, 6 — Hester Bruce, 3 — Jennie and Birdie K., 4 — 
Jennie Balch, 6 — Ale.xande rand Freddie Laidlaw, 10 — Sallie Viles, 7 — H.Coale, 1 — L. M. and E. D., 8 — H. J. Dodd, 5 — Sterne, 7 — 
Mary E. Kaighn, 7 — Ruth and Samuel Camp, 9— Elaine, 3 — Emiline Danzel, 1 — George Habenicht, 2 — Hattie, Lillie, Ida, and 
Olive, 7 — Marguerite Kyte, 1 — Margaret and Muriel Grundy, 4 — Arthur L. Mudge, 1 — Ida and Edith Swanwick, 8 — Eleanor and 
Maude Peart, 1 — Georgia L. Gilmore, 5 — "Captain Nemo," 11 — Jessie A. Piatt, 9 — " Penn Forest," 9 — Ed and Louis, 8 — L. C. B., 
3 — Belle G. M., 9 — George Lyman Waterhouse, 10 — EdithHelen Moss, 1 —Willie Sheraton, 3. 



Vol. XI. 

AUGUST, 1884. 

No. 10. 

[Copyright, 1SS4, by The CENTURY CO.] 

By Franklin H. North. 

" YEA — Ip ! yea — ip ! ! yea — a 
in loud, hoarse tones across the Central Park play- 
ground, and the sheep anear and afar, startled 
from their browse, turned about and, with mouths 
grass-tufted, looked in the direction of the shep- 
herd and then in that of his aide-de-camp, the dog, 
Shep, that is wont to bring them their orders. 
Even the young lambs playing " follow-my- 
leader " on the steep rocks to the south of the 
field, that have not yet come to look upon life 
seriously, paused in their gambols and craned their 
necks, as if to say: ''Well, what's up now?" 
They soon learned. 

" Hoo, Shep! Hoo ! " shouted the shepherd to 
his dog, and before the last sounds had left his 
lips, the collie was flying across the grassy slope 
that separated him from the flock. 

The message with which Shep was intrusted was 
something like this : " Close order all ! Stand by to 
run for the fold ! Storm coming ! " 

Now, the awkward, noisy boatswain of a big ship, 
charged with the same kind of order, would have 
almost split the ear with his shrill pipings and his 
still more boisterous bawling of "All hands on 
deck to shorten sail ! " And the buglers of a 
squadron of cavalry, in delivering such a command 
as Shep bore, would have frightened every living 
thing within hearing, by their wild trumpetings to 
"Saddle horses ! " " Mount horses ! " and the like. 

Shep has a much better way than these. He 
runs around and around the flock, repeating in a 
pleasant, low tone the orders to march that he 

has received. The stranger who does n't know 
anything about sheep and about the collie, or 
Scotch sheep-dog, would naturally enough look 
upon his barking as the ordinary meaningless jab- 
bering of uneducated dogs. But if you should 
listen to Shep while he is repeating his orders to 
the flock, you would find that his barkings, though 
usually low-toned, are sometimes emphasized ; that 
some are short and some long ; and that each is 
expressive of a distinct idea when taken in con- 
junction with his look of annoyance as he runs 
after a stray sheep, and of satisfaction when, in 
answer to the nudge of his nose, the straggler turns 
toward the flock. 

It is a language which the sheep may be said 
to understand almost perfectly, and the laggards, 
or possibly those hard of hearing, run up to him 
now and then, as if they had lost a word or two, 
and were anxious to gather the exact wording of 
the orders. For sheep, like girls and boys, and 
even their elders, have a curiosity to know 'just 
what is going on about them. 

On the afternoon when they were being called 
in much earlier than usual, because of a threat- 
ened storm, it was evident that the sheep were 
somewhat puzzled, and that the collie was having 
not a little trouble with them. 

Sheep, of course, don't carry watches, and 
therefore can not tell exactly what the hour is, but 
they have other means of knowing. The shepherd 
will tell you that his flock know it is time to go 
home when the afternoon sun sinks behind the 



peaked roof of the fold ; and as Shep, probably be- 
cause he was not so instructed, did not explain the 
cause of the unusual orders, they could only con- 
clude that they had really been out on the velvety, 
fragrant meadow the allotted time, or else that 
the machinery that worked that great golden orb 
which usually gilds the western sky at their bed- 
time, was not in good running order. 

The shepherd knows that sheep must not be left 
out in the rain, as the water rots their hoofs, and 
always alert, he spies a coming storm with almost 
the same readiness as the mariner, though the 
latter has a barometer to aid him. 

After the flock has traversed the entire extent of 
field, on its way homeward, it comes upon the 
public drive-way that separates the play-ground 
from the sheep-fold. It is here that the shep- 
herd and his assistant, Shep, have the most trouble 
with the flock. Fast-driven horses almost run over 
the sheep, and children show a desire to catch the 

But Shep is equal to the emergency, and, at 
every moment, seems to be just where he is most 
needed. Now he has stood his ground in the mid- 
dle of the road and stopped a pair of high-stepping 
horses, and again he is flying down the bridle-path 
to turn homeward a frightened sheep. 

All the attentions paid to Shep by strangers, at 
such times, are thrown away. Neither the seduc- 
tive callings of the spectators nor the whistling 
and hooting of the boys have any effect. Shep 
keeps busily moving hither and thither, from one 
part of the flock to the other, infusing courage into 
the timid lambs, and pushing the wild ones with 
his nose when they show any inclination to stray. 

In fine weather, the sheep usually go out on the 
meadow at half-past five o'clock in the morning 
and return to their fold at half-past six in the even- 
ing. Sometimes, as on Saturdays during May, for 
example, the meadow is given up to the boys and 
girls as a play-ground ; and it is safe to say that the 
disappointment of the boys and girls when they 
arrive at the Park and find the red flag flying, is 
not a whit keener than that of the sheep when, on 
coming out into the yard of a morning, they discover 
that the stars and stripes are waving from the staff 
in the middle of their favorite feeding-ground. For 
this tells them that those curious animals that have 
only two legs instead of four, and wear all kinds 
of strange and many-colored clothing, are to be 
allowed to trample the young grass with un- 
sparing feet, or to play at ball, which sport, in 
the estimation of a sheep, seems, no doubt, a 
meaningless and foolish mode of enjoying one's 
self on a beautiful, green meadow. 

But sheep, too, have their games, or rather the 
lambs have; and among the grassv hillocks and 

rocky bluffs on either side of the field there is rare 
sport for them. 

The curiosity of the lambs sometimes leads them 
to approach children on the paths that border the 
green ; but petting or playing with the lambs is 
now forbidden, because children and their nurses 
are inclined to offer them all kinds of cakes and 
even brown paper, india-rubber rattles, and shoe- 
strings. And such articles of diet as those last 
named, though consumed by the goat with evident 
relish, have a serious and sometimes fatal effect 
upon the digestion of the lamb. 

But, while visitors are not permitted to approach 
the flock, it is not long since an exception was 
made to this rule. A lad with paralyzed limbs 
used to be wheeled each bright day down the 
narrow path that skirts the favorite play-ground of 
the lambs at the south of the field, and from his 
high cushioned seat he would look wistfully at the 
white-fleeced lambs near by as though he would 
like to make their nearer acquaintance. At last, 
one day, some of the lambs, attracted by the sweet 
clover he held in his hand, cautiously approached 
and nibbled at the proffered grasses, which con- 
sisted of the common variety of clover, the white 
and the hare's-foot, a very delicious food for them. 
From that moment the boy and the lambs were 
firm friends; and, the kindly shepherd having 
given his consent, the poor little invalid visited the 
flock daily. Indeed, it happened ere long, that 
whenever noon came and the visitor did not ap- 
pear, some of the lambs were wont to pause in 
their gambols and look eagerly- up the winding, 
hilly path, as if disappointed that the little man 
with the fresh clovers was not in sight. 

Those who saw him say that it was a pleasure to 
watch the lambs gather around him, peer into his 
face and even crowd the woman away from the back 
of the little three- wheeled carriage in their endeav- 
ors to pluck the fresh clover over his shoulder. But 
each day his face seemed to grow whiter and thin- 
ner, and his hands feebler ; and one day in the 
autumn, when the foliage that overhung the path 
had become red and yellow, and brown and purple, 
and the soft southerly breeze had changed to cool- 
ish winds from the w-estward, the well-known tri- 
cycle did not appear. The bright sun reached the 
meridian and began to sink into the south-west, 
but the bearer of the clovers came not, and the 
lambs were forced to content themselves with the 
young grass clinging to the hillocks. A few days 
later, a sad-faced woman in a black gown ap- 
peared at the point in the path that had been fre- 
quented by the little invalid, and sat for hours 
upon a bench near by. It was the same woman 
who had come with the boy, and when the lambs 
discovered that she brought with her the same 

i88 4 .] 



grasses they were wont to receive, they ventured 
to approach and eat them out of her lap. But by 
and by came the bleak, chilling" winds and the 
snow, and the woman appeared no more. 

The sheep-fold stands upon an elevation facing 
the point where the western bridle-path touches 
the main road. It is a stone and brick building, 
having two wings, a connecting archway in the 
rear and a large yard in front. In this yard are 
several boxes, each containing a great chunk of 
rock-salt, and when the sheep return from their 

land, and to be one of the purest and most 
unmixed breeds of sheep in Britain. 

The building where the Central Park sheep 
are housed is not a model fold. It looks more 
like a fortress than a sheep-fold, and it seems to 
have been constructed under the misapprehension 
that sheep require all the conveniences of the 
human family. The fold is pierced with port-holes, 
like a block-house, or the gun-deck of a man- 
of-war. These holes, however, are now stopped 
up with cobble-stones, but before this was done 


feeding-ground, they push and crowd one another 
for good positions about these boxes, for they are 
very fond of salt. If you should look at the chunks 
of salt, you would see that they are honey-combed 
in every direction by the sheep's rough tongues. 

The sheep wander about the yard till night-fall, 
and then straggle into the pens to sleep on the 
fresh straw provided for them by the shepherd. 

The flock is composed entirely of Southdowns, 
a variety believed to be native to the Downs 
of Sussex, in England, and said by Mr. Henry 
Woods, of Merton, one of the best English author- 
ities, to have existed before the conquest of Eng- 

there were many mishaps ; the lambs, in a spirit 
of investigation, often squeezed through the holes 
to see where they led, and fell into the depths 
below, a distance of eight or ten feet. 

At either end of the fold, there are rooms with 
fine panels and furnished with oaken book-cases 
and tables. The intention of the builders was to 
make libraries of these rooms ; btft the sheep in 
the Park, though they do a great deal of thinking, 
and no doubt at times hold long conversations with 
one another, or with Shep, their guardian, don't 
care much for reading, and don't require any books. 
This fact, however, seems not to have become 



apparent, to the builders until after the library was 
completed, and these costly rooms have been used, 
not as reading-rooms, but for storing the wool that 
is clipped from the sheep. 

Inside the fold, there are two parallel rows of 
pens, each having beneath it a diminutive row of 
the same shape. These pens are filled with hay 
in the indoor season, — when the ground is covered 
with snow, — the tall pens being for the sheep, the 
short ones for the lambs. 

At one end of the fold, distant only a few feet 
from the sheep, lies the collie. Indeed, Shep 
would not be at ease away from the sheep, for, 
though eighteen years old, he has lived among 
them from his infancy. " Like many another 
shepherd dog, Shep, when but a few weeks old, 
was put under the care of a ewe whose lambs 
had been taken from her to make room for him, 
and hence he doubtless feels himself a sort of 
kinsman of the flock. Even for a collie, Shep 
is unusually sagacious, and in many instances has 
shown an intelligence almost human. 

A few years ago, Shep being even then an old 
dog, an attempt was made to supersede him with 
a younger dog of more acute hearing. So poor old 
Shep was led away ; and, evidently divining what 
was going on, showed many signs of distress. He 
was given to a gentleman who owns a farm in Put- 
nam County, New York — more than fifty miles 
distant from New York City. Arrived at the 
farm, Shep was wont to sit on the lawn before 
the house and look intently in the direction 
whence he had been brought. Neither the kindly 
words of his new master nor the marrowy bones 
plentifully bestowed upon him by his mistress, 
served to cheer up his faithful old heart or lessen 
his longing to be back with the flock he loved so 

One day the Park Superintendent came up to 
the farm on a visit, and Shep's heart beat with 
delight ; for he imagined, though wrongly, that it 
was for him that the visitor had come. His new 
master took the superintendent out into a field to 
see some fine cows, and Shep followed ; but the 
cows became restive at the sight of the dog. 

''Go home, Shep!" said his new master, turn- 
ing sharply upon him. Shep, when he got this 
command, brightened up immediately. His eyes 
opened wide and his bushy tail, which had drooped 
ever since he took up his new quarters, rose high 
in the air and curled over his back with its wonted 
grace. He understood the words of the order per- 
fectly; but he knew only one "home," and that 
was in the Central Park sheep-fold, and with an 
alacrity that did credit to his aged limbs, he 
bounded off in the direction where he knew it 
stood. He had come by way of a steam-boat that 

landed at Poughkeepsie, and with a sagacity that 
might be looked for in a human being, but could 
hardly be expected in the canine family, he found 
his way at once to the wharf. There, not being 
able to read the time-table posted upon the wharf- 
shed, he sat down behind some barrels and waited 
patiently for the boat to come. But the boat 
started from the upper Hudson and did not call 
at Poughkeepsie until late in the afternoon. Shep 
seemed to know that it would come at last, how- 
ever, and he improved the interval in taking a few 
quiet dozes under the shed. 

When the boat arrived, almost the first pas- 
senger to get aboard was Shep ; he made the 
embarkation in just three bounds, and forgetting all 
about buying a ticket, hid himself at once among 
some great cases of merchandise lying on the 
main deck, where he remained, composed and 
comfortable, during the journey. The shepherd, 
who told this story of his collie, did not say if, upon 
the arrival of the boat at New York, the captain 
demanded Shep's ticket. But, if he did, it is safe to 
say he did n't get it, for Shep left Poughkeepsie 
with nothing but his shaggy hair on his back. 
The boat, in due time, reached the wharf at the 
foot of West Twenty-third Street, New York City; 
and, as may be imagined, Shep did not tarry on 
the way between the wharf and the Central Park. 
Long before his fellow-passengers had their lug- 
gage safely landed, Shep had reached the fold and 
was being hailed by the sheep with unmistakable 
evidences of delight. And from that day, the Park 
Superintendent, Mr. Conklin, a warm-hearted 
man, would not permit any one to remove the 
faithful collie from the fold. 

Shep, much to his disappointment, found another 
and a younger dog in his former position of pro- 
tector of the flock, but he was at once appointed 
as instructor to the young dog, a position he yet 
holds and in which he is giving great satisfaction. 

The younger collie is called Shep Junior, and, 
though a very intelligent dog and making good 
progress in the collie language, is given o'er much 
to frivolity, and has by no means yet secured the 
confidence of the sheep. They naturally regard 
him as not entirely worthy of their confidence ; for 
on several occasions he has shown an inclination to 
take part in the play of the lambs, which puts an 
end to all sport at once, since he is both awkward 
and rough. And upon one occasion he intruded 
upon a game of " Folio w-my-leader," and snapped 
savagely at a lamb who had jumped, out of its turn, 
from the rocky hillock that skirts the southerly 
end of the pasture. 

There is reason to believe that old Shep, who 
made a dash to the spot to rescue the lamb, 
scolded him soundly, for it is said that, after a 

i88 4 .; 




: ' ''^g^;-: 1 ; 




few vigorous barks from the old dog, young Shep 
crouched down and sneaked off the field in the 
direction of the fold, trailing his bushy tail in the 
dust behind him. 

If you should visit the Park some fine morning, 
you might see young Shep taking his lessons. He 
is never whipped, not even when he does wrong or 
makes mistakes, because that breaks the spirit 
of a collie, as indeed of any other kind of 
dog, and a shepherd dog must of all things be 
brave. When he does n't carry out an order cor- 
rectly, or in such a way that the sheep can under- 
stand him, old Shep is sent with the same order 
and Shep Junior is made to keep still and watch 
him until it is executed. His first lesson is simply 
to guard a hat or a coat or stick thrown upon the 
grass by the shepherd, and he is left out with it 
sometimes until late in the evening to show him 
the importance of fidelity, the very first essential in 
a shepherd dog. Next he is taught to gather the 
sheep, to take them to the right, then to the left. 
After this he is sent on the trail of a lost sheep, 
with instructions to bring it back slowly. The 
most important lesson, and one young Shep has 
not yet learned, is that of going among the flock 
and finding out if any of them are missing. This, as 
may be imagined, is by no means an easy task with 

path on their way home, while he was busy in 
keeping troublesome boys away, will take his stand 
at the gate of the fold and touch each sheep 
with his fore-paw as it passes in. At such timeshe 
has the air of a farmer counting his cattle as they 
come home at night, and he wears an expression 
as if his mind were occupied with an intricate sum 
in addition. Whether he is really counting the 
sheep or not can not be said positively ; but he has 
been known, after noting each sheep as it passed, 
to rush off up the bridle-path and return with a 
straggler. This does much to prove that the 
shepherd's assertion that old Shep can count the 
sheep is possibly not far from the truth. And Mr. 
Conklin, the Park Superintendent, an authority 
on sheep and sheep-dogs, says that every well- 
trained collie knows by sight the individual mem- 
bers of his flock, and, by going among them, can 
tell if any are missing. In the annual sheep-trials 
in England, he has seen a collie, he says, success- 
fully carry out an order to select three sheep from 
the flock, and conduct them safely along a danger- 
ous and winding path. 

One morning Shep, having safely conveyed the 
flock to the end of the green, and made sure that no 
vagrant dogs were about, returned for his younger 
namesake, whose school-hours were about to begin. 

"you must go back. 

a flock of eighty-two ewes and sixty-nine lambs. 
But old Shep can do it, for he knows every member 
of the flock, though to the ordinary observer they all 
look almost exactly alike. Indeed old Shep can, 
if his master the shepherd is not mistaken, per- 
form a feat more wonderful than this. The shep- 
herd says that Shep, when uncertain whether 
some of the flock have not strayed up the bridle- 

While trotting leisurely back with his charge, 
he heard the shepherd calling loudly for him, and 
soon made the startling discovery that the sheep 
were nowhere to be seen. A wild dash brought 
him to his master's side. He looked up into the 
shepherd's face, cocked his head on one side, as- 
sumed an expression of apprehension, and gave 
three sharp, short barks and two long ones, fol- 



lowed by a low wail. Translated into our language, 
this meant : " I say, old man, where are the sheep?" 
At the same time Shep's tail, which, under ordi- 
nary circumstances, curls gayly upward in a semi- 
circle, fell about ten points, w-hich indicated a lack 
of confidence in the shepherd and a general depres- 
sion in his own spirits. For Shep's tail is an infalli- 

heavy, and as an ornament it was by no means 
attractive. He barked and growled savagely and 
tried to shake Shep off, but it was no use. The 
more he shook himself, the more firmly Shep's 
sharp teeth buried themselves in his ear, and 
when he was beginning to howl with pain, the 
shepherd came up and with his great oaken staff 

ble index of the condition of his spirits, just as the 
rising and falling of a column of mercury in the 
thermometer indicates the temperature of the air. 

The only response Shep got was: "They're 
a' awa ! " 

No sooner did he hear this than he was bound- 
ing over the grassy undulations to the north- 
ward, for he knew that the sheep, when chased by 
vagrant animals, generally make for the steep de- 
clivity that lies northward and eastward of the 
play-ground. Shep was right in his conclusion 
that his wards had fled thither. Perched all over 
the sharp, steep rocks and bowlders were the 
sheep. But it was not a lion, or a tiger, or a wolf 
that was awkwardly stumbling over the rocks with 
blood-stained fangs, but a great shaggy butcher's 
dog. In an instant Shep took in the situation. With 
three springs he was close up to the marauder, and 
at the end of the fourth the powerful freebooter 
found himself possessed of what seemed to be a 
permanent appendage to his left ear that was far 
from comfortable. As an ear-ring it was too 


gave him a good beating before Shep got 
the word to let the prisoner go. 

Young Shep, like old Shep, is a pure-blooded 
collie, and bore away the honors in his class at the 
last bench show of dogs in New York. He is short 
of nose, bright and mild of eye, and looks very 
sagacious. His body is heavily covered with 
long and woolly hair, which stands out boldly 
in a thick mass and forms a most effectual screen 
against the heat of the blazing sun or the cold, 
sleety blasts of the winter's winds. The tail is very 
bushy nnd curves upward toward the end. The 
color of the hair is almost black, sprinkled with tan, 
and there is a white spot on the throat. Were it 
not for this white spot, he could not be called a 
pure-blooded collie. 

Young Shep is certainly an apt pupil, as you 
may see if you visit the fold when he is taking his 
lessons. He is very intelligent, and though, as 
already said, he has not yet mastered the only lan- 
guage the sheep understand, he spends much of 
his time in thinking. 

Sheep dogs, like old Shep and young Shep. 
rarely get bones, and. consequently, when they 
do have the good fortune to receive such a deli- 
cacy, they are inclined to take very good care of it. 

Young Shep, when he had picked the bone to 





his complete satisfaction for the time, used to dig a 
hole in the yard, and put the bone in it, thus mak- 
ing provision in time of plenty for a possible famine 
in the future. Seeing this, old Shep, who, if he 
is losing his hearing, is by no means parting with 
his scent, got into the habit of goin 
about the yard when in want of a nib 
ble, and digging up the young- 
ster's favorite bones. This 
was too much for youn 
Shep, and he set him- 
self to outwit the S 
learned canine profes- ~ 

tite should return and he could enjoy the feast to 
his heart's content. As said before, young Shep is 
a thinking dog, and it did not take him long to hit 
upon a plan. by which the voracious appetite of his 
revered instructor might be foiled — at least in so 
far as the appropriation of his junior's property was 

He first dug an unusually deep pit, scratching 
away with his fore-paws for a long time. In the 
bottom of the deep hole he carefully buried the 
juicy chicken-bone, covering it with a good supply 
of fresh clay. The hole was now only half full, 
and young Shep was seen searching the yard from 
end to end. Finally he found what he sought ! 
It was an old bone that had been picked clean and 
even the edges of which had been nibbled off. 
This he carried over to the newly made hole, into 
which he dropped it, covering it in turn with a 
bountiful supply of clay. 

The next day old Shep bethought him that he 
would like a good bone to nibble. So he searched 
about the yard. The newly turned earth assured 
him that a bone was below, and his nose affirmed 
it. He went to work with a will, and his labors 
were soon rewarded by the sight of a bone. But 
such a bone ! No meat adhered to its sides, and it 
was almost white in some places 
from exposure to the wea- 
ther. Old Shep just 
g>S\ ^W>\^ toyed with it for a 
few moments 
and then car- 
ried it to 
the far- 
\ ther end 


^pffflp ' 


sor. Being given an unusually delicious and deli- of the yard, where he dropped it. Meantime, young 
cate chicken-bone one day, just after his dinner, he Shep had come to the door of the fold and had seen 
looked around for a safe depository until his appe- what was going on with ill-concealed anxiety. No 



sooner had old Shep retired from the vicinity of 
the hole, however, than the younger dog was there, 
digging with all his might ; and a few minutes later 
Old Shep, at the other end of the yard, saw him 
extract from the same hole where he himself had 
been digging, a fine juicy chicken-bone, that almost 
made his mouth water. 

Now that young Shep's studies are nearly com- 
pleted, old Shep is kept much of the time chained 
up in the dark recesses of the fold, and it is indeed 
a pitiable sight to see the noble old fellow as he 
sits with watery eyes and looks up wistfully in the 
shepherd's face in hopes he will relent and let him 
go out once more with the sheep and watch them 
as they clip the sprouting herbage on the neighbor- 
ing hill-sides. But the fact is, old Shep is very 

* Gash, shrewd; tyhn, dog; lap, leaped; sheugh, ditch; sotisie, g< 
big ; hardies, hips. 

deaf, and all his faculties are waning, for he is 
eighteen years of age. 

" 'E 's studied o'er mickle," says the shepherd. 
" 'E 's a'most wore out 'is mind,' an' nocht will do 
Mm now but to wa' till it 's a' over an' 'e 's na moor." 

That 's it. The faithful old collie has done his 
work and done it well, and he must now step aside. 

" He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke ; 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Aye gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his triuzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gaucy tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl." 

This is Burns's description of the mountain collie 
in the " Twa Dogs," and a faithful picture also of 
old Shep, of the Central Park sheep-fold. 

od-natured ; baws'nt, brindled; ilka, every; touzie, shaggy; gaucy. 


By Susan Hartley Swett. 

Oh, what is the use of such pretty wings 

If one never, never can fly ? — 
Pink and fine as the clouds that shine 

In the delicate morning sky. 
With a perfume sweet as the lilies keep 

Down in their vases so white and deep. 

The brown bees go humming aloft ; 

The humming-bird soars away ; 
The butterfly blows like the leaf of a rose, 

Off, off in the sunshine gay ; 
While you peep over the garden wall, 

Looking so wistfully after them all. 

Are you tired of the company 

Of the balsams so dull and proud ? 
Of the coxcombs bold and the marigold. 

And the spider-wort wrapped in a cloud? 
Have you not plenty of sunshine and dew. 

And crowds of gay gossips to visit you ? 

How you flutter, and reach, and climb ! 

How eager your wee faces are ! 
Aye turned to the light till the blind old night 

Is led to the world by a star. 
Well, it surely is hard to feel one's wings, 

And still be prisoned like wingless things. 

Tweet, tweet," then says Parson Thrush, 

Who is preaching up in a tree ; 
Though you never may fly while the world goes by, 

Take heart, little flowers," says he; 
For often, I know, to the souls that aspire 

Comes something better than their desire ! " 




" Big broth- 
ers are awful ! 
iSHfl I never saw any- 

thing like it! They wont 
ever tell anybody any- 
thing that a body wants to know," Alice 
groaned, looking up at her big brother, a hand- 
some boy of fifteen. 

" Professor Knox thought so this morning, 
Alice. He agreed with you entirely. I stuck on 
the asses' bridge and could n't get off." 

" I don't care about the bridge. I want to 
know about that pin, and you wont tell. You could, 
if you chose, I know." 

"Not if I 'm to remain a gentleman, Ally. 1 
am pledged to secrecy, and honorable people don't 
break promises." . 

" Pledged to secrecy ! " Alice repeated, as George 
walked away in a stately manner. "I like the 
sound of that. I don't see why I could n't be 
pledged to something, too. I don't see why we 
girls should n't keep things, too. George loves to 
say that we tell everything. / don't." 

Alice set her pretty lips firmly, as she walked 
toward school. Just before her were two or three 
others, belonging to the same class, talking very 
rapidly and gesticulating with books and sandwich- 

" People will think you 're impolite, girls, to be 
talking so loud in the street," she said, as they 
waited for her to come up. 

"I don't intend to trouble myself much about 
manners yet awhile," returned Jessie Kimball, 
sending her box into the air and catching it as it 
fell. "Time enough to be prim, by and by." 

"I should think you did n't," Gussie Sanborn's 
quiet little voice broke in. "I can't get a word in 
edgewise. I Ye been trying to tell you about 
Charley Camp and how he fell into the bath-tub, 
ever since we started, and it 's no use at all. 
There ought to be a law that people should n't 

" Oh, bother ! " said Jessie. " Who cares, when 
every one does interrupt, sometimes?" 

" Now, I '11 tell you, girls, I know about Madame 
Recamier," said Gussie; "for they were all talk- 
ing about her the other night, and they said that 
though she was one of the best talkers that ever 
lived, she was just as good a listener; and then 
Father said that to listen well was one of the lost 
arts. Mr. Strousby said it was an American vice 
for all to talk at once, and he doubted if any one 
of us who were then conversing had heard what 
any r one of the others had said during the five 
minutes before. He said ministers were trie only 
persons who had a fair chance now-a-days." 

" There was one good listener there, anyhow," 
said Alice, " and her name was Gussie Sanborn. 
Now, girls, I have a plan. I think we are often 
rude and impolite, and I Ye thought of a way to 
stop it. There is n't time to tell you now, but 
please all come up into the north recitation room 
at recess ; and I tell you what, I think it will be 
real fun, — for every one of us ! " 

"Every one" included seven little girls, who, 
when the bell was touched for recess, rushed up the 
stairs and shut the door of the recitation room with 
a bang. Alice looked about dubiously, not feeling 
quite sure of her ground. 

"It's something more than just about being 
polite," she said. " It 's something you 're not to 
tell, and you must all promise you '11 not tell, be- 
fore I begin. Anyhow, we must n't tell a/ijybody 
but our mothers, and I 'm not positively certain 
yet about them, unless they promise not to tell 
anybody else. Now, who promises ? " 

"All of us," said Jessie Kimball, speaking for 
the seven. " Don't we, girls? " 

" Yes," came from each one, and Alice went on. 

" Well, I have it all planned in my mind. It 's a 
secret society, like George's, you know, — to be 
called the 'Society For Being Polite'— the ' S. F. 
B. P.' — with a president and everything. We '11 
draw lots for the first president, and afiVr that elect 

THE " S . F . B 



in this way : You know our beads that we 're mak- 
ing purses with ? Well, we '11 make strings of the 
very lightest ones, all white or blue or yellow, and 
• every girl that is impolite shall have a black bead 
added to hers. The president will have to string the 
beads, and keep count of all the different errors ; 
and the one that has fewest black beads at the 
end of the week shall be the president for the 
next week. We must take account of all kinds 
of impoliteness: Interrupting; and talking too 
loud ; and banging doors ; and crowding ; and 
putting on airs ; and eating our lunches too fast, — 
and everything. But I don't think the president 
could stand it for more than a week, having to 
watch all the time, you know." 

"You'll have to be the first president," said 
Jessie, " because you know all about it; but how 
will you remember all the times we are impolite? " 

" Put 'em down," said Alice, briskly. " The 
president must have a little blank-book with all 
the names, and every Saturday she must foot up 
the accounts, and get the strings ready. We 
take them off Friday before we go home, and put 
them on again Monday, and we must all help pay 
for the beads." 

"Oh, wont it be fine?" said Jessie. "When 
shall we begin ? " 

" To-day is Tuesday," said Alice, reflectively. 
" It 's better to begin right away, if you 've really 
made up your mind to do a thing. I have a book, 
and we can put down the impolitenesses for the 
next four days, and make the first strings Sat- 

"But we must have a constitution and by- 
laws," said Gussie ; "secret societies, and other 
kinds, always do." 

" I think we hardly need them," said Alice. 
" Anyhow, if we do, we can get them up after- 
ward. Now, remember you all have promised not 
to tell a " 

'"Certain true, black and blue, 
Hope to choke if ever I do,' " 

chanted Jessie, loudly. 

" One for you," said Alice, drawing out her book. 

" We have n't begun ! we have n't begun ! " said 
Jessie, pulling away her pencil. " I shall go crazy, 
I know I shall, if I must think of every word I say ! 
Besides, you 're not president yet." 

" Yes, she is," said Gussie. "We all agreed, 
and now we 've begun. I knew you 'd be the first 
to get a black bead ! " 

" One for you," said Alice, turning to Gussie. 
" That 's a taunt." 

Each little girl looked at the others in conster- 

"We'll have to watch every word we say!" 
exclaimed Marion Lawrence. " 1 never can do it : 

and yet we've all promised. 1 'm afraid my string 
will be all black." 

" Now," said Alice, as the bell rang again, " I 
shall not tell any of you about the others' black 
beads until Monday, and I shall put down all my 
own rudenesses too, and if I don't, any one can tell 
me of them. We are the ' S. F. B. P.,' and 


As the week went on Miss Christie wondered 
equally at the startling increase of good manners, 
and at the air of importance and mystery which 
surrounded each little girl. She wondered more 
on Monday morning, when the seven appeared 
half an hour before the usual time and gathered 
in a recitation room, which she was politely re- 
quested to yield to them until the bell rang. Alice 
locked the door, and then drew a long breath. 

" 1 'm thankful it 's Monday," she said. " Oh, 
such a week ! I have n't had a minute's peace, 
watching you all, and George saw me stringing 
the beads and asked what they were for, and I told 
him they had something to do with the ' S. F. 
B. P.,' and now he wont let me alone at all, and 
is trying constantly to make me tell. Here are 
the seven strings in this box. Gussie, you have 
only four black beads. I have seven, and Rose 
eight, and Marion six, and Mary and Annie Rob- 
bins each five. Look at Jessie's ! " 

Alice held up a string, an inch or two of which 
was in deepest mourning. 

" Twenty-seven, Jessie ! " she said. 

" I don't believe it ! Show me the book ! " 
sputtered Jessie. " Twenty-seven times from 
Tuesday to Friday afternoon ? It 's no such thing, 
— so, now ! " 

"One for contradicting," said Alice. "Gussie 
has the fewest black beads, so she 's the next 
president, and she can put it down. Here 's the 
book. Has any one told ? " 

" I have n't," came from every one, with the 
greatest promptness. 

"That's right. Girls can keep things secret, 
even if boys think they can't. This societv will 
teach us to hold our tongues, and not tell all we 
know. George is determined to find out, and so 
is Fred Camp, and you must take care or they 
will. It 's very hard work not to tell things." 

All the older girls opened their eyes wide as the 
seven answered the school-bell. During the week 
each one had worked the four letters on card- 
board, and now appeared with a string of parti- 
colored beads about her neck, and " S. F. B. P." 
in large letters just over her heart. Miss Christie 
smiled, but said nothing. As the week went on, 
Miss Brown, the assistant teacher, said that this 
nonsense going on among the little ones had better 



F. B. 


be stopped, as it distracted their attention ; but 
Miss Christie only answered that it did not seem 
to her to be doing any harm, and if it proved 
harmful she would attend to it. 

George, in the meantime, had used every art 
known to the mind of boy to find out the mean- 
ing of the mysterious letters. Jessie and he were 
firm friends, and he felt sure that a little judicious 
teasing would give him every detail, and was pro- 
foundly astonished that it did not. Fred Camp 

day, when Jessie and Alice were locked in their 
room, and George with Fred Camp and Will Ash- 
ton were looking out sulkily and wondering what 
they had better do, Satan, seeing six " idle hands," 
at once found mischief for them to do. 

" They have n't any business to have secrets," 
said George. " It's different with us, of course. 
We 're old enough to know what we 're about. I 
don't believe it's anything good, else they would 
n't be so mum about it." 


pleaded with his cousin Gussie, shocked her by in- 
sisting that the letters meant " Society for Buying 
Pies," and returned each day to the charge with 
never-diminished energy. Bribes, threats, en- 
treaties, all were useless. The boys grew cross 
over their want of success, and one rainy Satur- 

"I'd make 'em tell, if they belonged to me," said 
Will Ashton, a heavy-looking boy with disagree- 
able eyes. "I 'd listen and find out that way, or 
else I 'd plague them till they were afraid not to 
tell. You can almost always scare a girl." 

" Let 's get into their room," said Fred. "We 

i88 4 .. 



can drop through the transom, you know, over the 
door in the back hall. Take the step-ladder and 
back right in. Keep quiet now, and we 'II astonish 

Alice and Jessie sat at their table altering strings 
of beads. Jessie had labored through a week of 
the presidency, nearly exposing the whole thing by 
her impetuous ways, and writing herself down oft- 
ener than any one. There was a decided improve- 
ment, however, and she held up her own string 
admiringly. Long ago she had bought some fat 
black beads, determined to get some fun out of 
her iniquities, and now she held them out to 

"Only eleven this week," she said. "I have 
thick black ones for pushing, and long ones for 
screaming, and these fiat ones for interrupting, and 
I do believe I 'm getting a great deal better." 

Here came a rattling against the door, and then 
a silence. 

" Go away," said Alice. " You can't come in 
now. We 're busy. My goodness ! " 

A pair of legs came through the ventilator, waved 
wildly for a moment, and then Fred dropped to 
the floor, followed by George and Will, who made 
low bows as they gazed upon the astonished girls. 

"You're mean, horrid things to come where 
you 're not wanted," said Jessie, pushing her book 
under the table-cover. "Gentlemen don't do such 
things. My father would n't." 

" Good reason why! he could n't. He'd stick 
on the way and wave there all day." sang Fred. 
"Thank you, Miss Jessie ; you did n't poke it so 
far under but that I can get it. Now we '11 see — 
'Alice Benedict: Bragging, i; Interrupting, 2; 
Contradicting, 1. Gussie Sanborn: Airs, 1; 
Sulks, 1. Jessie Kimball: Pushing, 4.'" 

"Fred Camp, you mean boy! put it down!" 
cried Jessie, growing very red, and making dashes 
after the book, which Fred held high over his head. 

"Look here, Jessie," said Fred, when after a 
long chase about the room she and Alice sank 
down panting. " It 's no use now. We have 
the book, and we 're going to keep it, too, unless 
you will tell what it all means. We '11 have the 
beads too, and any other little thing we like." 

" I '11 tell Mother," said Alice, making a dash 
toward the door. 

" Easy, now," said George, holding her back. 
" Mother wont be back till three, for she 's up at 
Aunt Myra's. You may scream to Hannah or 
Mary if you like, but I guess 1 can manage them. 
You sha'n't come down to lunch, if you don't tell." 

" I can call fast enough," said Alice. 

"Call away," said Will: "We '11 give you 
three chances to tell, and then if you wont we '11 
put you in the trunk-room and keep you there, 

anyhow till your mother comes. She can't scold 
me nor Fred. Now, will you tell ? " 

" Never!" said Jessie, furiously, and " Never! " 
repeated Alice. 

" Once ! Now, again ! Will you tell or wont 
you ? " 

Will caught Jessie's hands and held them 

" No," she said again, trying to pull away. 
"You 're a tyrant! You 're a coward ! You 're 
as bad as Fred ! " 

"Twice. Nevermind little pet names. Now, 
the last time. Will you tell ? " 

Alice looked at Jessie, but both were silent. 

" Into the trunk-room with them ! " Will shouted, 
picking up Jessie as though she had been a baby. 
George unlocked the door, and he and Fred pulled 
along the struggling Alice, who, as they reached 
the hall, made a sudden dash for the stairs. Fred 
sprang forward, and accidentally slipped upon the 
floor in front of her, and Alice, unable to stop, 
tripped over his foot, and fell down the stairs, 
catching at the banisters, and lying at last in a 
little heap at the bottom. Will dropped Jessie, 
who flew at him like a little tiger, and then rushed 
down after George. Alice's head fell back upon 
George's arm as he lifted her. 

" She 's dead," he said, looking up with a pale 
face. " She 's dead, and we have killed her ! " 

Will looked at her a moment, then snatched his 
cap and ran out at the front door, saying. " / did 
n't do it, anyhow." 

The two servants had come as the sound of the 
fall reached them, and with a storm of words at 
the two boys, they carried Alice to her room and 
laid her on the bed. Fred ran for a doctor, and 
George for his mother, while poor Jessie sat by 
and cried. 

" She's dead! she's dead. Oh. wurra! wurra!" 
moaned Mary. 

" Niver a bit," said Hannah, who had been 
chafing Alice's hands and moistening her head, 
which was badly bruised. " See, now; the darlint 
is comin' to herself." 

Alice opened her eyes, feebly at first, then 
brightly as usual, and sat up. 

" I thought I was dead," she said, " but I 'm only 
stiff a little. I didn't tell, did I?" 

"No, you did n't, you darling!" said Jessie, 
flinging her arms around her. " I was just going 
to though for a minute, when that awful Will got 
hold of me. I never thought George and Fred 
were such horrid boys." 

Half an hour later, when Mrs. Benedict came in 
pale and quiet, not knowing what she might find, 
while George, utterly miserable, followed her. hardly 
daring to look up, Alice threw her arms about her 



THE " S. F. B. P. 


mother's neck and held tight, till forced in spite of 
herself to look at the astonishing sight of George 
actually crying and telling her how glad he was 
that she had not been killed. 

"I '11 never bully a girl again as long as I live. 
I don't care whether you ever tell or not," he said 
abjectly. "You 're pluckier than any boy I know." 

Mrs. Benedict, as she listened to the story of the 
day, decided that it held its own lesson, and she 
need say nothing. The doctor, when he came, 
assured them no harm had been done so far as he 
could discover, but he advised quiet for the rest of 
the day, which Alice spent lying in state, and 
waited upon by George with the greatest deference. 

When the " S. F. B. P." again met, Alice, as 
she gave out the strings for the week and compli- 
mented the society on the small number of black 
beads, opened a little box George had put into her 
hand as she left the house. In it was a gold pin, 
shield-shaped, bearing the letters " S. F. B. P.," 

and around it, in the smallest of German text, the 
letters "A. B. T. G. W. N. T." 

" He has all the alphabet there anyway," said 
Jessie Kimball. " What does it all mean ?" 

" 'Alice Benedict, the Girl who Never Tells,'" 
said Alice, half laughing, half proudly. " George 
and Fred spent their own money for it to pay for 
tumbling me down-stairs ; and he said last night, 
if we all kept our promises so well, why we would 
n't be like most girls, that 's all." 

All this was twenty-five years ago. Long ago 
the society held its last meeting. Of the seven 
only five remain, and Alice is Alice Benedict no 
longer. If Alice, Junior, had not pulled out the 
little pin from a dark corner of her mother's desk 
the other day, and having heard all about it, told 
the whole story to her pet Uncle George that 
evening after dinner, you would never have 
known, any more than he, the full meaning of 
the mvsterious letters S. F. B. P. 


By William H. Hayne. 

He jumps so high in sun and shade, 

I stop to see him pass, — 
A gymnast of the glen and glade, 

Whose circus is the grass ! 
The sand is 'round him like a ring, — 

He has no wish to halt, — 
I see the supple fellow spring 

To make a somersault ! 

Though he is volatile and fast, 

His feet are slim as pegs. 
How can his reckless motions last 

Upon such slender legs? 
Below him lazy beetles creep ; 

He gyrates 'round and 'round, — 
One moment vaulting in a leap, 

The next upon the ground ! 

He hops amid the fallen twigs 

So agile in his glee, 
I 'm sure he 's danced a hundred jigs 

With no one near to see ! 
He tumbles up, he tumbles down ! 

And from his motley hue, 
' T is clear he is an insect clown 

Beneath a tent of blue ! 



He philosophers CscAPef 


By Eva Lovett Carson. 

Once there lived a wise philosopher (so runs an ancient rhyme), 
Who was prisoned in a dungeon, although guilty of no crime; 
And he bore it with a patience that might well be called sublime. 

For the cruel king who put him there had made a stern decree : — 
" Imprisoned in this dungeon the philosopher shall be, 

'Till he find out by his own wise brains the means to make him fre 

This king despised philosophers ; he smiled a cunning smile, 

When his people said: "Your Majesty, the sage is free from guile; 

And consider, sir, the poor old soul has been there — such a while! 

" Then let him find the way to leave," sternly the king replied. — 
Full seven weary weeks had passed ; the sage still sat and sighed. 
And pondered how to break his bonds, — but long and vainly tried. 

He had no money and no tools ; he racked his learned brain 
To solve the dreary problem — how his liberty to gain. 
He wept, and wrung his useless hands; — but groaned and wept in ■ 
Vol. XI. — 49. 




One morn, as he sat 
scheming for the free- 
dom that he sought, 

A plow-boy passed the 
window, with a cheery 
whistle, caught 

From happy heart. The 
lively sound disturbed 
the wise man's thought. 

The peasant stopped his 
merry tunc, and peered 
within to see 
Who the creature that 
inhabited that gloomy 
place might be. 
" — Easy 't is," quoth the 
philosopher, " to sing 
when one is free." 

" But why do you sit moan- 
ing there ? " the merry 
peasant cried. 

", My prison door is locked 
and barred," the 
mournful sage replied ; 

'• Who has no money, 
tools, nor friends for- 
ever here may bide ! " 

But if the door is locked and barred," the stupid boy still cried, 
The window opens outward, and the window opens wide ! " 
The wise man started, — paused, — and then with dignity he eyed 

The foolish clown. "My boy," said he, " a ".notion so absurd, 
So plain and simple, could not to me have e'er occurred ; 
But " — (Here he leaped the window without another word). 

The plow-boy stared amazed, then slowly shook his head in doubt. 
" If that 's your wise philosophy," said he, " I '11 do without." 
And the monarch heard the story with many a merry shout. 

i8S 4 .] 


I N C X S T A X T I X P L E . 


%$® <&?©e?<^ UnanyimtL' ©cstL 

© rv 





My brother 
George and I 
were "reckon- 
ing up " to see how 
much we had spent 
during the day in the 
grand bazaars of Stamboul,* 
when Artyn, our guide, en- 
tered our parlor with the bundles containing our 
" bargains." 

Our father had arranged for us to spend the sum- 
mer months in that delightful dim. \ and had en- 
gaged quarters at the Hotel Luxemburg, kept by a 
Frenchman, on the European plan. It was situated 
on the main street and in the central part of Pera. 
Pera is one of the suburbs of Constantinople, on 
the north side of the Golden Horn, occupying the 
entire ridge, and is mainly inhabited by Europeans. 
Here all the embassies and the legations of foreign 
powers are situated, as well as many hotels, theaters, 
and fancy stores ; so that the main street of Pera 
has quite the air of a street in a European city. 

It was about nine o'clock in the evening when 
Artyn entered the room, and we immediately 
opened our parcels and examined them, each 
selecting his own property. There were small em- 
broideries, tin\- slippers, table and chair covers, 
pipes with amber mouth-pieces, tiny coffee cups, 
with filigree silver holders, fragrant attar of roses, 
little rugs, and many other similar articles intended 
for presents to our friends. 

In the midst of our pleasant examination we 
suddenly heard the loud boom of a cannon, which, 
in the stillness of the hour, sounded so loud that it 
greatly startled us. 

"Ah! a fire!" exclaimed Artyn. "Let us see 

where it is," and he listened eagerly, 
with his finger on his lip. In a moment 
there was another report. "That 's two," 
said he, and waited for more. After 
counting six reports, Artyn exclaimed 
with surprise, " Why ! that means Pera, 
Or its neighborhood." 

"■What makes you think so?" inquired our 
father, who was sitting on the sofa, enjoying his 
after-dinner rest. 

" The number of guns, sir. This is the Sixth 
Precinct," was the answer. 

" Where are those guns fired?" was the next 

"Do you remember, sir, where I took you 
last Friday afternoon, half-way up the Bos- 
phorus ? " 

" Certainly." 

•' Well, sir, you must have noticed the high hill 
on our right as we landed. It is called Kennan- 
Tepe. As it commands an extensive view of the 
Bosphorus, some guns are placed there, and a 
watch is posted to note the first appearance of fire 
in any part of the city, and to announce it by 
firing the cannon." 

"How do they find out that there is a fire in 
Pera, when they are so far off? " 

"Perhaps they have telegraphic communica- 
tion," observed our mother, who had come in and 
was examining the articles we had purchased. 

" Yes, madam," rejoined Artyn, "but it is not 
by wires. There are two towers devoted to that 
purpose. One in the city itself, called the Ser- 
Asker's tower, on account of its being near the 
war department, and the other the Galata tower, 
on the northern shore of the Golden Horn, 
which we pass almost every day in going to the 
city. You have not visited either of them yet. 
When you do, you will find that the view from each 
of these towers is very extensive. There are 
watchers stationed at each tower, who are con- 
stantly on the lookout, and the moment they dis- 
cover the first sign of a fire they put out a signal, 
calling Kennan-Tepe's attention to it. If you will 
please to come up with me to the top of the house, 
I will show you how the thing is done." 

But at that moment Artyn's explanation was 

* The Turkish name for Constantinople. 




suddenly interrupted by a long and dismal yell in 
the street. 

" There! " exclaimed he, " that's the neovbetjee, 
one of the watch from the Galata tower, who is 
dispatched to announce the fire to the different 
guard-houses where the fire-engines are kept." 

We all rushed to the windows to have a look at 
him. He was a young man wearing short, loose 
trousers of white cotton cloth. His legs were bare 
below the knees ; he wore Turkish red pointed 
shoes on his feet, without stockings, — a loose 
jacket of brown felt over a white cotton shirt, and 
his head was covered with a metallic bowl, which 
shone brightly. A leather belt encircled his waist, 
and was clasped with a large brass buckle in front. 
He carried a short spear in his right hand to de- 
fend himself, Artyn said, from the dogs which 
abound in the streets. But these animals, I notjeed, 
kept carefully out of the way as soon as they heard 
him coming. His yell was to warn the people to 
make way for him and inform those at the guard- 
house of his approach, just as stage-drivers in 
America used to sound the horn when approaching 
a village, or as a railroad locomotive whistles when 
nearing a station. It served also to give due notice 
to the guards to be ready to hear from him the 
exact locality of the fire, so as to start their engine 
with promptness. 

This man was soon followed by another dressed 
like one of the common porters who brought our 
trunks from the custom-house to the hotel. In- 
deed, these poor fellows, Artyn informed us, after 
working hard all day, serve also on the night- 
watch for fires. He carried, in one hand, a long 
lantern, four-cornered and covered with parch- 
ment, and, in the other, a heavy club, shod with 
iron. He stopped before our window and gave 
three thumps on the stones, and cried out in a 
melancholy tone, " Yangun-Var" ("Fire! fire! 

at ! ") Immediately everybody who heard 

ran out of their houses, and the quiet street began 
to be crowded. 

" Let us go upon the roof," said George. So 
we all hastened up, and there, the night being- 
clear, we had a fine panoramic view of the city. 
We saw both the towers, each of which had put 
out a large globular red lantern, suspended from 
a long pole, which extended from one of the win- 
dows in the direction of the fire. We had a good 
view of the fire, too, which was not far off. 

" Would you like to go and see a Constantinople 
fire ? " suggested our guide. 

" Why, yes ! to be sure ! " exclaimed George 
and I, " if Father would let us." 

" I dare say he will. May they go, sir? It's 
worth seeing, and I will take good care of them," 
said Artyn, addressing our father. 

Artyn was a young Armenian, educated at Rob- 
ert college, on the Bosphorus, and consequently 
he spoke English well. Father had taken a great 
liking to him. He knew the young fellow was 
intelligent, and he had great confidence in his 
ability. So he gave us permission to go, since 
we were to be under Artyn's care; and George 
and I immediately rushed down-stairs, and, clap- 
ping on our hats, left the hotel with our guide. 

We found the streets, which were quite narrow, 
almost impassable ; and Artyn, anxious for our 
safety, enjoined us to keep together. While 
elbowing our way through the motley crowd, we 
suddenly heard another thrilling yell from behind 
us, and at the sound, the crowd took to the sides 
of the street. There were no sidewalks ; men and 
beasts walked along indiscriminately. When the 
throng heard the shout, they quickly separated so 
as to form a clear space, as American crowds 
sometimes have to do at a fire. 

" That shout means that a fire-engine is coming. 
Keep close to the wall, or else you '11 be run over 
and trampled upon," remarked Artyn. 

" But I don't hear the rattling of the wheels," 
observed George. 

" No, indeed," rejoined Artyn ; " and for the 
simplest reason in the world, — because the engine 
is not run on wheels." 

We soon caught sight of the captain of the com- 
pany. He was a tall athletic fellow, dressed like 
the neovbetjee we had seen pass by our hotel. He 
was coming toward us in a double-quick trot, 
brandishing, in a proud manner, the brass spout 
that belonged to the hose. He was followed by 
the engine and the firemen that belonged to it. O, 
what a sight ! .Most of them were scantily clothed, 
and some did not even have caps upon their heads, 
but I noticed that all wore the regulation belt with 
the large buckle in front. They were evidently of the 
class which composed the riffraff of the city. The 
engine itself was nothing more than a big-sized 
garden pump, carried on the shoulders of eight 
men, four in front and four behind. They relieved 
one another every now and then with great dexterity 
and alertness. 

They soon swept by us, followed by the hose, 
which was coiled over a long pole, the ends of which 
rested on the shoulders of another file of men. Just 
as they reached the next corner, there emerged from 
a side street another engine, whereupon a squabble 
for the right of way immediately arose. The two 
companies jostled and pushed forward, each party 
trying to get ahead of the other. After a long ha- 
rangue and bluster, accompanied by constant yell- 
ing, screaming and hard words, they lowered their 
respective engines to the ground and fell into a 
regular fight, wrestling, pushing, and knocking one 




another down in a most fero- 
cious manner. Their looks 
and actions were frantic, and 
they fought like madmen. 

While they were thus en- 
gaged, a third shrill yell 
assailed our ears. I thought 
another engine was coming, 
and wondered what would 
be the result, when Artyn 
exclaimed : 

" Ah ! There comes the 
Ser-Asker, the minister of 
war ! He '11 soon settle their 
dispute ! " And he did. 

He was preceded by a 
ncovbetjce, who cleared the 
way for him, and when he 
came up, he promptly or- 
dered the companies to take 
up their engines and follow 
him, which they did with the 
utmost meekness and alac- 
rity. There was no chance 
now for either party to claim 
the victory, but they kept up 
a subdued rattle of words all 
the way. 

" Does the minister of war 
belong to the fire depart- 
ment ? " I inquired of Artyn. 

"Oh, no!" said Artyn. 
" But all the ministers and 
high officers of the Govern- 
ment assist voluntarily at 
great fires, in order to en- 
courage the men and to keep 
order, as you have just seen. 
Even the Sultan himself is 
sometimes present." 

" How much pay do these 
zealous firemen get ? " put in 

" Pay ! " exclaimed Artyn, 
with a hearty laugh. " No 
pay at all. They do it for 
the love of it. Glory, sir ; 
glory and excitement are suf- 
ficient pay for them ! They 
are exempted, however, from 
taxes, and each fellow gets 
one pair of shoes a year from 
the Government ; and if, by 
accident, they should succeed 
in saving a house from the 
flames, they get a backshish, 
or present, from the owner, 





with which they repair to some favorite haunt, and 
celebrate their prowess with a crowd of noisy 

We had now reached the place where the fire 
was raging. We could not get very near to it, but 
were near enough to watch its progress. It was an 
awful sight. It looked as if the whole city was on 
fire. Every now and then volumes of thick dark 

some distance, finally alighting upon other houses 
and setting them aflame. In this way, the fire 
was spreading dangerously. The people, how- 
ever, knowing this danger, were watching on the 
roofs with pails of water ; but the firebrands fell 
so thick and fast that they could not master them. 
We saw many people, whose houses had been fired 
in this manner, running to save their homes. 


smoke ascended, followed by bright flames which 
shot suddenly upward like so many tongues of fire 
trying to lick the sky. The crash of the falling 
houses, the rattle of the tiles with which the roofs 
were covered, the clanking of the engines, the 
yells of the firemen, the screams of distressed 
women and frightened children, the hoarse shouts 
of men madly endeavoring to save their furniture, 
— made a terrific din. 

The fire originated in a valley on the north side 
of Pera hill. The houses, being principally built 
of wood and dry as tinder, fell an easy prey to the 
devouring element. There was, besides, a strong 
northerly wind that fanned the flames. Cinders 
in quantities were floating in the air like fire- 
works. Even large pieces of wood were detached 
from buildings on fire and carried by the wind 

Under these circumstances, the tiny fire-engines 
could do but little toward arresting the progress of 
the fire. It was fast making its way up the hill, 
taking in everything in its path. 

The water supply, too, was very deficient. It 
was either obtained from the public fountains 
(whence it was carried to the engines in leather 
bags and pails), or it was drawn from deep wells 
and private cisterns. These latter, Artyn informed 
us. being used as receptacles for kitchen utensils, 
are often unavailable ; so that the water gives out 
soon, or is very slow to reach the engines. 

Artyn now suggested that we should retreat 
from the place where we were standing; for it was 
becoming not only uncomfortably hot, but even 
dangerous. From the windows above us, beds, 
bedding, and various articles of furniture were 



being thrown into the street, where the friends of 
the owners scrambled forward to assist in saving 
the property. Before retiring, however, we wit- 
nessed two tragic events. 

We saw a young woman brought out of a burn- 
ing house with a copper kettle in her hand. She 
was screaming wildly, " My baby ! Oh, my baby ! " 
The woman had been engaged in the kitchen, with 
her infant in her arms, and had been busily occu- 
pied saving her cooking utensils by throwing them 
into the cistern, quite unconscious that her dwell- 
ing was already on fire. The firemen, having dis- 
covered her in that perilous place, had rushed into 
the kitchen and forced her to hasten out. On her 
way she had espied a copper kettle, and had in- 
stinctively seized it ; but in her fright and bewil- 
derment, she had thrown her baby into the cistern 
instead of the kettle. Fortunately, a sturdy fellow 
succeeded in rescuing the baby, and restoring it to 
the distracted mother. 

The other incident was even more dreadful. 
As we stood looking at the fire, we beheld a 
man struggling, and the next moment saw him 
thrown deliberately into the flames. 

George and I exchanged looks of horror, but 
the bystanders seemed to pay little heed to the 
occurrence, merely remarking that the man was 
an incendiary who had been caught in the act of 
spreading the fire for the purpose of robbery. 

We now found, that to abandon our position was 
not an easy matter. We had to fight our way 
through the crowd, and when, by hard effort, we 
gained the main street, we discovered that there was 
no possibility of getting to our hotel, the fire having 
intercepted us. So we had to make a wide circuit 
by going down the hill toward the Bosphorus and 
up again at the other end of Pera. W r e noticed on 
our way .that every vacant spot along the street was 
filled with heaps of household furniture, covered 
with carpets as a protection from thieves and fall- 

ing embers, the owners, or friends of the owners, 
standing guard near by. 

On the way back, Artyn took us through a most 
dismal place, which frightened us almost out of our 
wits. We had to pass through the large Turkish 
cemetery that lies in the outskirts of Pera. The 
somber darkness of the cypress trees was gloomy 
enough, and against it the standing monuments, 
lit by the glare of the fire, looked like so many 
ghosts arisen from their graves to witness the con- 

We reached at last the foot of the hill by the 
Sultan's palace, and struck out toward Topanne. 
When we arrived there, we learned that we could 
not get to our hotel, for the simple reason that there 
was no longer any such hotel in existence. It had 
been burnt to the ground ! We thought of our 
parents, and were greatly alarmed. We felt confi- 
dent that they had escaped from the place, but 
even if they had, how and where were we to find 
them ? 

To appease our anxiety on that score, Artyn 
said : 

" Well, young gentlemen, we will go to every 
hotel that is not burnt down, and inquire for them. 
If not in any of the hotels, they probably are at 
the American Legation, which is not touched by 
the fire." 

We were greatly comforted at this and trudged 
on with redoubled vigor. And within an hour, to 
our great joy, we found both father and mother 
comfortably lodged at the Hotel D'Angleterre. 
They were anxiously hoping for our coming, and 
were as delighted as ourselves at the reunion. 

They, too, carried away by the excitement that 
surged around them, had gone out, and before 
they had returned the hotel was in ashes. 

But we have never become fully reconciled to the 
loss of our "bargains," which were consumed and 
buried in the ruins of the hotel. 

A BOBOLINK and a chick-a-dee 

Sang a sweet duet in the apple-tree. 
" When I 'm in good voice," said the chick-a-dee, 
" I sing like you to 'high' C, 'high' C; 

But I 've caught such a cold 

That for love or for gold 

I can sing onlv chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee ! " 





IT is all very well to be good, I agree, 
To be gentle, and patient, and that sort of thing — 

But there 's something that just suits my taste to a T 
In the thought of a reg'lar Pirate King. 



By Blanche Willis Howard. 

Frieda grieved most at leaving the cathedral. 
For Freiburg itself she cared little. She was 
only a lame child, who could not run about with 
her strong brothers, and sometimes, indeed, when 
her back was very weary, she could not even walk. 
But she was not unhappy, for Babele was always 
kind, and was so gentle on the days when the pain 
came that the touch of her rough, hard-working 
hands was as tender as an angel's, Frieda thought. 
And then Babele was so droll, and knew how to 
tell such delightful tales about the Hollenthal, the 
wild mountain pass near Freiburg, through which 
the boys often tramped to gather and bring home 
flowers for the little sister. "Here are your 
weeds, Frieda," they would shout, laughingly, 
and would almost bury the little girl under the 
fresh fragrant mass of blossoms. The brothers 
were rough sometimes with one another, but never 
to Frieda. Johann, the eldest, worked with his 
father in the picture department of a publishing 
house. Heinrich and Otto were still at school. 

In the twilight, after the day's work was done 
and before it was quite dark enough to light the 
candle, — for they were poor and thrifty people, 
who had to be careful not to waste anything, — 
Babele used to take Frieda in her arms and tell 
her wonderful tales, not only of the wild Hollen- 
thal, but of the Wildsee, the Mummelsee, the 
Murgthal, and many another spot in the Black 
Forest, as well as legends of the Rhine and the 
Hartz Mountains, and of the Thuringian Woods 
and the Wartburg ; and the most astonishing thing 
was, there was never a day when the pain came 
that Babele, although she had been telling fairy 
tales all these years, — and Frieda was nine years 
old now, — did not have a perfectly marvelous 
story to tell, full of unheard-of adventures, and 
irresistible charm. And Frieda would listen en- 
tranced, until she forgot the poor little aching 
back that did not grow straight like other chil- 
dren's backs. 

But it did not always ache, and Frieda was 
really a contented little girl, and merry, too, in her 
quiet way. She used to sit in her low chair and 
watch Babele at her work, and croon sweet solemn 
airs she heard in the cathedral, and help, too, 
whenever she could. Sometimes she could sew a 
button on Johann's shirt, or even darn a sock for 
restless little Otto, who wore everything out so fast ; 
and she was always pleased to be useful. 

At night, when the boys came home, they would 

tell her what had happened to them during the 
day, and she was clever enough to assist Heinrich 
and Otto with their lessons, for in her feeble body 
dwelt a sweet, strong, and helpful spirit. Then 
Johann would explain to her how they made pict- 
ures, until she understood the process almost as 
well as he. As for her papa, she saw little of him 
except during the dinner hour at noon ; for he 
worked hard all day, and when evening came sat 
with his fellow-workmen smoking his pipe, and 
seldom came home until after the children were 
asleep. He did his best for his family, but he had 
never been the same man, Babele said, since his 
bright, cheery wife died, and that was a few months 
after Frieda was born. And these nine years Babele 
had staid on, and kept the house and the chil- 
dren clean, and toiled early and late, and all for 
love of Frieda ; for it was little wages that she 
received, and the growing boys needed more and 
more every day, and Frieda's father would have 
been desperate and helpless without faithful Ba- 
bele. When the neighbors remonstrated and told 
her she could get higher wages as servant in some 
grand house, she replied scornfully : 

" A gown on my back, a roof over my head, and 
bread enough for the day — what more do I want? 
And I would n't live without Frieda, no, not in the 
King's palace and on the King's throne, and that 's 
the beginning and the end of it." 

The neighbors shook their heads and advised 
this and that, because neighbors like to seem wise 
and delight to give advice, but in their hearts they 
thought all the more of Babele for her devotion to 

So, though lame and motherless and poor, Frieda 
was not an unhappy child. She had many joys, 
and the greatest joy of all was the cathedral. They 
lived close by, almost in its shadow, and on her 
"well days" Babele used to lead Frieda over and 
leave her there alone for hours, knowing that no 
harm could come to her in that sacred place. The 
old beadle knew her well and was kind to her, and 
all the people who came regularly learned to look 
for the quiet little figure sitting alone by the great 
pillar, and to be glad of the gentle smile of greeting 
from the pale child with the large brown eyes and 
the heavy chestnut hair falling below her waist, 
concealing with its beautiful luxuriance the pitiful 
little hump between the shoulders. 

Strangers often turned to wonder at the blessed, 
peaceful look the deformed child wore. But thev 




need not have wondered. She knew only love at 
home, and lived always among beautiful thoughts. 
Why should she not be happy ? 

There she would sit by the hour watching the 


warm violet and rose lights from the stained-glass 
windows, gleaming and glowing here and there on 
the cold stone, now falling on the bowed head of 
a peasant woman kneeling with her heavy basket 
by her side, now lingering on the cheek and hair 
and soft rich draperies of a fair young girl. How 
Frieda loved the changing lights ! How she loved 

all she saw there in the great solemn, still cathe- 
dral. The massive shafts, the noble arches, the 
slanting rays of colored light, the many voices of 
the organ. She knew it all so well, that she could 
see every line as clearly 
when her eyes were 
closed as when they were 

Only once did any- 
thing ever happen to 
make her refuge seem 
less dear and safe. It 
was in summer, when 
Freiburg is full of stran- 
gers. Frieda was so used 
to them, she knew at a 
glance, when a party 
came into the church, 
whether they were peo- 
ple who really loved the 
noble lines as she did, 
or whether they were 
what she called the 
" tired ones " who looked 
too weary to love any- 
thing, or the business- 
like, loud-talking ones 
who always mentioned 
that they had "been in 
Milan and Cologne, and 
did not think much of 
this cathedral." Little 
did Frieda care for the 
unfavorable comparison. 
It was her cathedral, her 
world. And little did 
people know how close 
an observer the still, frag- 
ile child was. She was 
too gentle to criticise, but 
she unconsciously made 
very clever distinctions. 
One day a gentleman and 
lady and a boy of ten or 
twelve entered the cathe- 
dral. " Heisatiredone," 
thought Frieda, "and 
she has been in Milan 
and Cologne." The boy 
had small black eyes, 
quick movements, was richly dressed, and carried a 
little cane. As they passed, the lady gave the lonely 
little figure by the pillar a careless glance, and threw 
some pennies into her lap. This did not wound 
Frieda's gentle spirit. Such a thing had, indeed, 
happened now and then, but only unthinking, care- 
less people could possibly make the mistake of 



imagining that those restful, patient eyes were ask- 
ing for charity. Frieda rose slowly, walked over to 
a poor-box, and dropped the pennies in. The lady 
and gentleman had gone on, and did not see her. 
The boy looked at her mockingly with his hard, 
bright eyes, and then said : " This is the way you 
go," at the same time dropping his chin on his 
breast, hunching his back, and walking with a slow, 
mincing step. 

The English words Frieda did not understand, 
but the tone and the action were too brutally plain 
to mistake their meaning. Like a crushed flower 
the lame child sank drooping into her chair, and 
looked with wide, sorrowful eyes at the boy, who, 
with a grimace and a " Good-bye, Owl ! " ran on 
to join his parents. 

When Babele came to take Frieda home, the 
little girl was pale and very silent. Babele thought 
she was weary, but when the next day and the 
next and still another day came, and she said 
gently that she did not care to go to the cathedral, 
but preferred to stay with her good Babele, the 
faithful woman grew anxious. 

" Is it the pain, my Frieda ? " 

"No, Babele, it 's not the pain. At least, it 's not 
that pain," the child said, gravely. 

" Where is the pain, then ? " asked Babele. 

" Only here," said Frieda, pressing her slight 
hand against her heart. Then suddenly, for the 
first time in her life, she asked : 

" Why didn't God make me straight, like the 
other children ? " 

And then poor Babele, whose love had so 
guarded the child that no harsh thing had ever 
disturbed her peace, knew that some strange hand 
had struck a blow, over which her darling had 
grieved many days ; and, kneeling by Frieda's 
bed, she sobbed aloud, and taking the child in her 
strong arms, and covering her with kisses, said, 
in her warm, German fashion : 

"Dearest, dear little heart, what makes the 
pain ? What cruel thing has happened that my 
darling never wants to see the pretty lights or hear 
the grand organ any more ? Tell thy Babele, 
little sweetheart." 

" He had very black eyes and a velvet hat," 
murmured Frieda slowly, " and a crimson necktie, 
and a little walking-stick with an ivory dog's head. 
He did not mean any harm. He did not know it 
would make a pain in my heart to have him show 
me how I looked, and he made his pretty little 
straight back very ugly." — she was whispering 
now, — " and I thought if I was like that, I must 
disturb people who come to see tall straight pillars, 
so I 'd better stay away." 

Babele trembled from head to foot. She saw it 
all now as if she had been present. Her darling. 

who had lived in a magic world of legendary lore 
and poetry and music, who had known all her life 
only the calm, solemn influences of the cathedral 
and the tender sweet influences of her simple 
home, had been wounded to the heart by this 
strange boy, and cruelly awakened to a conscious- 
ness of the deformity which separated her from 
other children. 

" My lamb, my angel, I would give much to have 
saved thee this and to have kept the pain from thy 
heart," Babele exclaimed, adding fiercely, "and if 
had that imp here I 'd wring his neck and crush 
him in my two hands." 

"Oh, no ! " whispered Frieda, laying her gentle 
hand on Biibele's lips. "The little strange boy did 
not know. He did not know how I love the straight 
pillars and high arches. He did not know I forgot 
to think of myself because I love them so — and I 
am crooked, Babele," she went on with a piteous 
sob " I AM. He could not help seeing it." 

"Dear heart," said Babele, kissing the frail 
hands again and again, " I am only an ignorant 
woman, and I don't know how to make things 
clear. Even the wise men can't make things clear 
always. But I know this much. Something is 
wanting everywhere. It must be best so, or it 
would n't be so. And thou, my angel, thy back 
is crooked, but thy spirit is straight — and the 
wicked boy who mocked thee, his back is straight, 
but his spirit is crooked — and oh, thou darling of 
my heart, perhaps no one loves him as thy old 
Babele loves thee ! " 

" No," said the child, thoughtfully, " his papa was 
too tired to love him, and his mamma was too busy. 
Poor little boy ! " 

There was a long, long silence. Then Frieda 
smiled again. Throwing her arms round Babele's 
neck, she said softly to her faithful guardian : 

" Love is best ! " and the next day she said, 
" Please take me over, Babele dear. I want my 
lights," and Babele could have wept for joy as she 
led her to the cathedral. If after that Frieda 
shrank a little behind her favorite pillar when she 
saw a certain kind of boy coming toward her, and 
if she breathed more freely when he had passed, 
and if her great deep eyes seemed to grow still 
larger, still more thoughtful than before, at least 
she never complained, and she kept her thoughts 
to herself. 

Months passed by, and in time she was ten 
years old, and everybody was sad because her 
papa had died. Babele at first scarcely knew what 
to do with the four children. But she was, as usual, 
brave and patient, and help came. Frieda's uncle 
from Geneva said he would take Heinrich and Otto 
and send them to school, and Johann was seven- 
teen now and a steadv lad, and he must continue 




where he was and look out for himself. As to 
Frieda, here the uncle hesitated. His own family 
was large, his wife had many cares, and was not 
very patient. The boys would be out of the bouse 
most of the day, and they would not mind a hasty 
word now and then, but this pale, lame child, with 
the strange soft eyes — he shook his head doubtfully. 

" Ach, I will take the blessed lamb!" cried 
Babele. " She would grieve so among strangers. 
Let me take her with me and I will make a home 
for her in my old home. Indeed, she shall not 
want while I live — and she is like an angel in the 
house, she is so wise and so sweet. She brings a 
blessing with her wherever she goes." 

So all was arranged. Johann was to stay in 
Freiburg. Heinrich and Otto were to go to Gen- 
eva, and Frieda was to go to Babele's old home. 
Frieda was very sad, for she dreaded leaving the 
boys. But Johann, Otto, and Heinrich perhaps 
could come to her some day, Babele said, and 
could write to her always. But the cathedral, 
thought Frieda, could neither come nor write, 
and so, in her childish way, she grieved most of 
all at leaving the cathedral. 

Part 11. 

Frieda kissed her brothers good-bye with a 
large lump in her throat, the day they went off 
with their uncle. She tied Otto's cravat with 
trembling" fingers, and brushed Heinrich's hat in 
her motherly little fashion, but did not cry, for 
Babele had told her that the parting would be 
harder for the boys if she were not brave. After 
they were gone, and the house began to feel 
strangely still and empty, Babele led her into the 
cathedral and left her there for the last time in 
her old place. The poor little girl pressed her 
cheek against the cold pillar and sobbed as if 
her heart would break. At least, she need not 
restrain her tears out of consideration for the 
cathedral's feelings. That was a comfort. No 
one noticed her. The shadows were deepening 
around her. Still clinging to the pillar, she wept 
until she stopped out of pure weariness. She was 
so little, so troubled. The cathedral was so vast 
and tall and calm. She grew quieted in spite 
of herself. ''Everybody must love Heinrich and 
Otto and be good to them, for they are good ! " 
she said. " And I can always remember that I 
used to be here. Nothing can take that away," 
and the thought comforted her, though a great 
sob came with it. Then the organ began. Its 
thrilling tones seemed to be the voice of the great 
cathedral saying farewell to the pained little soul. 
She closed her eyes and sat motionless. Great 

waves of music surged round her. And above the 
mighty volume of tone soared a single pure mel- 
ody, ever sweeter, ever higher, up into the vaulted 
roof, up to the skies, up to heaven itself. The 
tired child felt as if she were lying in strong and 
tender arms, and as if many murmuring voices 
were saying softly, "Be loving! Be brave! 
Farewell ! " She smiled gently. " Farewell, little 
Frieda ! Be brave, be brave ! " said the voices. 

When Babele came, she found Frieda fast asleep, 
her tear-stained but placid face pressed close against 
the pillar, her arms clasping it lovingly. The next 
day they left Freiburg. Frieda was quite calm. 
She looked at the cathedral spires as they passed. 

"Wilt thou go in, once more, my lamb?" 
asked Babele, anxiously watching her face. 

" No," answered the child, gravely. " We said 
good-bye to each other yesterday." 

It was a short journey to Babele's old home, 
but long and hard for Frieda. She had never been 
in the cars, and they jarred and wearied her sadly, 
though Babele traveled slowly and gave her long 
rests, taking three days to do what she herself 
would have done in one, had she been alone. As 
they reached their destination, Babele was wild 
with delight. 

"See, dear heart," she cried, "how it lies among 
the hills. It is like a warm nest in this great cold 
world. And out beyond, a long, long way, is our 
village. And there 's the old castle and the tower 
and the great drooping trees of the park." 

Now it was far too dark to see anything what- 
ever, except the lighted streets of the new city, 
but Frieda strained her eyes and dutifully tried 
to look in all directions at once to please Babele, 
whom she had never before seen so excited and 
gay. Presently a stout, broad-waisted, rosy lass 
darted from among the crowd by the station with 
a hearty : 

"Greeting! Greeting, Babele! Dost thou not 
remember thy cousin Rickele? Have I grown so 
old in ten long years ? " 

"Ach was! Thou art little Rickele ! And thou 
wast such a wee bit of a thing!" And Babele 
laughed and cried for joy. 

"And the mother greets thee, and she has 
chosen a good room for thee, as thou didst write, 
and I am to take thee there, but I cannot be 
spared long, for the mistress said I was to come 
back in an hour, and the mother bids thee and 
the little one welcome, and she will come to thee 
when she brings her butter and eggs to market 
next week ; and the neighbors greet thee, Babele, 
and wish thee health and good days with thy home- 
coming; and Peter, the shoemaker, has taken the 
baker's Mariele, and the wedding is next month, 
and the dance will be at the ' Golden Lamb.'" 



So the girl chattered on, telling all the news 
of the village, swinging the travelers' boxes and 
bags, answering Biibele's eager questions and 
leading the way to the new home. 

The chatter, the lights and buildings, together 
with her fatigue, made Frieda quite confused, but 
she looked up so sweetly at this great, strong, kind 
Rickele that the girl's heart was won in a moment. 
"I will carry thee, little one!" she 
exclaimed, as they reached a tall dark 
house in a narrow street, and swing- 
ing the child up like a feather, she 
bore her in triumph up four long 
steep flights of stairs to the little 
room awaiting them. 

The room had a sloping ceiling 
and a dormer window. There were two 
narrow beds in it, a stove, a bare 
wooden table, a couple of chairs, a 
chest of drawers, a few shelves with 
plates, cups, a dish or two, and a 
pitcher on them, bright brass kitchen 
utensils hanging on the wall, and a 
pot of pinks on the window-sill. Poor 
as it all was, the bare white floor 
shone from its recent scouring, and 
the room was as neat and clean as 
strong arms and willing hearts could 
make it. 

With a deep sigh of contentment, 
Babele surveyed her apartment. It 
was to be her home, and the home of 
the being she loved best on earth. To 
keep it, she must toil early and late. 
What mattered it ? It was her own 
as long as she could pay for it, and 
she was once more among her kins- 
folk — she was among the hills she 
had climbed as a girl. The very air 
she breathed was dear to her. 

" Ah ! How happy we shall be 
in this nest, my Frieda ! " she ex- 
claimed. '• How beautiful is the 
homecoming to the wanderer ! But 
thou art weary, my lamb ; thou must 
eat a bit and sleep. " And she undressed the child 
and laid her in her bed, beneath the great red 
coverlet of feathers, which seemed like an enor- 
mous hen cheerfully spreading its warm wings over 
the tired little girl. 

" Sleep soft, my treasure ! " 

"Good-night, dear Babele; good night, Rick- 
ele," murmured Frieda, drowsily, and she sank 
to sleep with the shafts of the cathedral rising 
before her eyes, and the organ pealing in her ears, 
above all the noise and bustle of the journey. 

It was after nine the next morning when Frieda 

woke. Babele had already prepared their simple 
breakfast. The same joy still beamed from her 
honest face. She kissed Frieda again and again, 
and called her her sweet angel, as she helped her 
dress, then led her to one of the little windows in 
the roof. The child saw at first only sunshine and 
roofs ; roofs near, roofs far, roofs everywhere. 
It was so high, so strange. At Freiburg they 


had no stairs to climb. They were on the ground- 
floor. Here they were as high as birds. Frieda 
threw open the casement. The fresh spring 
breezes touched her cheek and blew her long hair. 
The sun shone on steep, red roofs and quaint 
gables. Two white doves sat on the roof near by. 
Frieda laughed and threw them bread crumbs 
from her breakfast. A big cat was solemnly blink- 
ing his eyes in a dormer window of the next house. 
Beyond the roofs rose the church tower ; beyond 
the tower the fair, green hills. 

"O Babele, how happy I am?" cried Frieda. 




" When I shut my eyes. I see my cathedral ; when 
I open them, here are the roofs and the doves." 

And Babele looked at her with tears of joy. 

This was the homecoming. It began kindly, 
with the welcome of friends and the heaven's sun- 
shine. But long days of wearisome work followed. 
Babele could not go into service, because of the 
child ; so she did washing and mending, and 
bravely earned each day the bread they ate. The 
days she washed at home, Frieda was con- 
tented as a kitten, and made the hours fly by with 
her sweet songs and quaint remarks. But the 
four days of the week, when Babele went off at 
day-break and Frieda was alone until toward even- 
ing, were very, very long for the little girl, and she 
spent them as best she might. With wide-open 
eyes she watched the doves, and the roofs, and the 
hills, then shut her eyes and saw the cathedral. She 
kept the wash accounts, and answered politely if 
anybody came to inquire about Babele Hartneck, 
the washerwoman, and when at last Babele re- 
turned, the two were happy as queens. 

And Sundays ! Ah, those were blessed days. 
Then Babele had time to take Frieda down the 
four steep flights and out, out into the spring-time, 
out among the lilies of the valley, and the yellow 
cowslips and crocuses and slender jonquils, and all 
the sweet flowers that grow on the Suabian hills. 
Sometimes she would even manage to get taken 
out to Bachsdorf, where her people lived, and 
where the irregular, queer little houses seemed to 
be gossiping together and nodding their heads till 
they almost touched over the narrow straggling 
village street, and where the peasants in their red 
waistcoats and silver buttons and knickerbockers 
would sit the whole afternoon, under the chestnut 
trees of the ' Golden Lamb ' garden, and Babele 
would laugh as Frieda never heard her laugh in the 
old Freiburg days. The week was long and full of 
toil, but Sunday, under a fair sky, among kinsfolk 
and old friends, brought freedom, joy, and peace. 

The two were quite happy — Babele could scarcely 
save a penny, but she w